All in a Day
by illman
Summary: Casefile. A seemingly simple investigation turns deadly. COMPLETE
1. Gil

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are to wonderful beta readers.

WE WORK CASES objectively, without letting personal feelings enter into it.  That's what the book says and that is what I am doing.  But in spite of all the objectivity, some cases are different from others.  I try to regard them all equally, the victims deserve that.  Every case is treated as special and unique, but even I cannot help being more interested in some cases than in others.   I hate to admit that, but it's true.  When Brass called me about a case which would become a very special case for me and I think for the entire CSI night-shift, my interest was immediately peaked.  A quadruple homicide in an inner city apartment.  This was one of those cases that demand the full attention of the entire team.  Thankfully we didn't have any other active cases at the moment, so after I told Brass that we would meet him at the apartment complex, I went out to get my team together.

The apartment was located in a bad part of town.  It was the kind of neighborhood where nobody really cares what's going on next door.  Usually the arrival of police sparks the interest of the neighbors.  I suspect the only action the arrival of patrol cars and officers prompted here was the rapid stashing away of drugs and other incriminating objects.  The building was run down, but still somewhat maintained.  We met Brass in the entrance hall of the ground floor.

"Hello, Gil!" He skipped lengthy greetings.  I like that, small-talk at work usually distracts.  "A neighbor went to collect a debt from Mr. John Delaney around nine p.m. tonight.  The door was ajar, he went in and found Mr. Delaney dead on the floor, he called the police then.  Officers found three more bodies, those of the wife, Mrs. Gwen Delaney, and that of their four year old son Gordon Delaney, plus the body of an unidentified female, about thirty years old, Caucasian.   Officers are going round as we speak, talking to the neighbors, but it's like usual, no one saw anything, no one heard anything,"

None of us spoke as we went up to the fourth floor, apartment 426.  

The corridor had been sealed off with yellow crime scene tape.  Detective Vega was already there, waiting for us.

"Jim, Mr.  Grissom," he acknowledged us, ignoring the rest of the team.  "The father is in the living room, son in the kitchen, the mother and the unknown female are in the bedroom.   The coroner has already started on them,"

"Let's divide up.   Sara, Nick you take the living room, Warrick you take the kitchen.   Catherine, you and I will be working the bedroom,"

The apartment was tiny, too small for three people living there.  The bedroom was at the far end.   Before we had even entered I noticed a biting smell in the air.  

"Do you smell that?" I asked Catherine.

"I do.   But I can't say for sure what it is, some kind of acid maybe,"  Catherine was right.   When we came into the bedroom, the smell became more pronounced.   On the bed were the bodies of two women, both covered in chemical burns.   David was already there, examining the bodies.   He looked up when we came in.

"From what I can tell without an autopsy, both women died from a gunshot wound to the back of the head.   The burns are probably from some kind of concentrated acid.   It was applied post-mortem, judging by the lack of bleeding and the fact that there is no sign that they tried to get it off,"

"If they were shot, it didn't happen here,"   Catherine said after examining the linens.   "There is hardly any blood or brain matter on the bed,"

"There's a blood trail on the floor," I pointed out. "In the direction of what looks like the bathroom,"

"Weird, these women look like the killer displayed them, but the father in the living room hasn't been posed,"

"Maybe they were the intended target and the husband was just in the way.   The killer or killers come in, see that the husband is there.   That wasn't planned so they kill him and then move on to the women,"  I laid out a possible scenario.  

"Maybe,"  Catherine went on to examine the bed side table.

"Fifty Dollars in here, two rings, we can rule out robbery as a motive,"

"Robbery is about objects our killer had a personal agenda.   And they have left us a note,"  I pointed to a white envelope taped to the mirror opposite of the bed.   I bagged the envelope in the hopes of getting valuable evidence such as fingerprints or DNA off it.

The next few hours we spend processing the entire apartment, for every room bore evidence of the murders.   What I didn't see then and actually didn't see until very late, was that these four homicides were merely a visible symptom of something much more terrible.

tbc


	2. Nick

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. Thanks goes to J and M for being such wonderful beta readers.

IT SOUNDS CHEAP WHEN I SAY that it was a case that changed my life, but it's true.   I'm not the same person afterwards that I was before, and nor is anyone else I think, even though some of us, especially Sara and Grissom are trying hard not to show it.   It all started as a slow shift on a Wednesday night.   The busy week-end was over and people were occupied with work, too busy to spend time with their families.   It's sad that the majority of homicides occur within the family.   The rate of murders sharply increases during the week-ends and especially on week-end holidays.   Before I got the job as a CSI, my picture of family, yes, of mankind in general was much more positive.   Maybe I'm still naive, but the case that we got started on that Wednesday did a lot to take away some illusions.

Grissom had just tossed us the brief summary of a quadruple homicide downtown, and told us to drop whatever we were doing and get in the car.

The apartment was in the bad part of town -low rent housing, minimally maintained.   The crime scene, a fourth floor apartment, was not in good shape either - overstuffed with furniture, no decoration.   I'm not a master of home decorating, but I think my place is at least livable.  This apartment was so desolate it was depressing.   Grissom had assigned Sara and me to work the living room.   The living room was a battlefield, shattered glass on the floor, probably from a beer bottle, chairs were fallen over, and there was blood spatter on the wall.

"Looks like he put up one hell of a fight," Sara commented, meaning the victim, a guy in his thirties who was lying dead by the door.

"No he didn't, at least not that I can tell,"  David had come in from the bedroom.   "I've already taken a look at him, thought I'd leave him for you guys to have a look,"

"Well, thank you,"  Sara said and started taking pictures of the body.

"What can you tell us?" I asked, as David was not volunteering any more details.

"He probably died from a gunshot wound in the chest, looks like close range, large caliber, maybe a forty-five, but that's not official.   No other injuries.   He didn't do this,"  David made a waving gesture at the general chaos.

"Hey, Nick, look at that,"  Sara pointed to a pool of blood next to the body.

"Yeah, looks like he was moved, maybe to close the door.  Because if he was lying where all the blood is, the door wouldn't close again.   Brass said that the door was closed when the neighbor came,"

"Okay, so the killer knocks, the guy opens the door and gets shot.   No chance to put up a fight.   Maybe someone else from the family heard the shot, came running, and got in a fight with the killer,"

"Maybe, but the killer had a gun ready.  Nobody would have stood a chance,"

"Well, taken by surprise, several people, there are lots of possibilities.   We'll know more when we get that blood analysis,"  Sara pointed to the blood spatter on the wall.

We worked onwards in silence going about our routine work, processing the scene and collecting evidence, which would eventually lead us to people whose disregard for human life was nauseating to say the least.

tbc


	3. Warrick

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers.

I DIDN'T REALLY THINK anything special when we got on this case.   The only thing I remember thinking was that it must be a pretty big case if Grissom is putting the whole team it.  It's sad that we don't think anymore when confronted with murder, rape, and other assorted human cruelty.  But we cannot afford to, because if we get too involved, science goes into the background and the bad guys might just get away.   In this case, we didn't have a choice but to get involved.  We were all dragged into it.   But I am the one with the least right to bitch here; I got off really light compared to the rest of the team.   As always, those who deserved it the least got the worst deal.   There is always a risk, even when working as a CSI, I know that.   After the Holly Gribbs thing we all know that, and in spite of our best efforts things have come very close to repeating themselves.   At least this time, I don't have to blame myself. I know that doesn't help anyone, but it's important for my own peace of mind.

That peace of mind was first disturbed when we got to the crime scene on a Wednesday night.  I've seen my share of desolate neighborhoods, so this did nothing to shock me.  What did rattle my cage a bit were the victims.  An entire family had been murdered, no survivors, plus there was an unknown body in the apartment as well.  Later, we found out that she was the aunt visiting.  Grissom made us divide up and I got the kitchen.  There was blood all over.  The walls were covered in spatter; there was a lot of blood on the floor.  Someone had walked through the pools of blood.  At a closer look, it was more like two people had walked through the blood, one person wearing socks, another person wearing flat shoes without a pronounced profile.  It didn't look like the kind of boots worn by the police, but I still went out to the officers to check.  None of them had blood on their shoes.  That left the other victims or the killer as source of the foot prints.

I carefully took photographs before entering the kitchen, so that I could reconstruct the crime later based on the blood patterns.  The body of Gordon Delaney, age four was lying behind the kitchen counter, shot twice in the chest.  A drawer in the counter was open.  It contained several knives.  The blood pooled around him was likely to be his own.  I followed the bloody trail from the kitchen out into the corridor.  Both the sock trail and the shoe trail led in the same direction.  Judging from the imprints, the person in socks had been running.  It was improbable that the killer would be wearing socks, I thought.  Just before the entrance to the bedroom, the shoe prints had overtaken the sock prints.  There was another small pool of blood, spatter on the wall.  The scene unfolded in my mind.  One of the women had been in the kitchen with the kid trying to protect him.  She had struggled with the killer, had pulled the knife from the drawer to defend herself.  Maybe she had cut the killer.  The killer had shot the boy.  She had managed to get away from him.  He had caught up with her before the bedroom, maybe he had grabbed her from behind and she had tried to get away from his grasp, trying to stab her assailant.  Where was the knife now?  If my theory was correct it should be somewhere.  I proceeded into the bedroom where Grissom and Catherine were busy.  

"Grissom, have you seen a knife around?"

"No, but we haven't checked the bathroom yet,"

"Mind if I take a look?"

"Sure, go ahead,"

Careful not to disturb anything, I went into the bathroom.  It was clear that the women we found in the bedroom had been murdered there.  Blood was all over the room, most of it inside the bath tub.  I could also make out particles amongst the blood.  Brain matter maybe? The knife I had been looking for was indeed there.  It was lying on the floor, covered in blood.  It would turn out that my initial theory of that part of the crime had indeed been correct.  Gwen Delaney had used the knife to try to fend off her attacker.  What I didn't understand then, was how it all fit into the bigger picture.  Why Mrs. Delaney had made a run for the bedroom, instead of trying to get to the front door.  The answers to these questions would come later, perhaps too late, I think now.


	4. Brass

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers.

I LIKE TO THINK OF MYSELF AS A HARDENED INVESTIGATOR who has seen it all and isn't really shocked by any form of human depravity.  That's easy to say until you are in way over your head.  That's what happened during the cultist case, as I call it for myself.  I had no idea what I was getting into.  To my defense, nobody had any idea what we were dealing with, not even Gil Grissom, who always knows more than the rest of us, did.  I think that's what hit him hardest, that he didn't see the disaster coming.  It took him by as much surprise as it took me.  When patrol called in the quadruple homicide, it was all routine.  I awaited Grissom and his gang.  They got to work at the scene, while I took to old-fashioned investigation and let them play with the science.  And to think that I used to be the CSI Supervisor!

Following the time-honored rule of first witness, first suspect, I went to ask the guy who called it in.  Turned out that, Roy Fredrick, in a fairly drunken state had gone over to the Delaney's flat to get his money back, an alleged three hundred bucks that John had borrowed from him sometime before.  That was his story at least.  I had my doubts about that.  Those doubts were underscored by claims from other patrons that he and Delaney had argued the same afternoon about payback of the debt.  Apparently there had been some issue concerning the amount.  Mr. Fredrick had blood all over himself.  For that, he just offered a shrug as explanation.  A quickly phoned in check turned out that he did not own a registered gun, but that's to say nothing, especially in this area of town.  The situation warranted a search of his apartment, about which he wasn't happy.  Apart from finding no insignificant amounts of drugs the undertaking yielding zilch.  I left further questioning of the patrons to the uniformed officers and headed back to the station to get background on the victims while Grissom and the gang were wrapping up at the apartment.  Investigative work is really a lot less exciting as it's made to look on TV, mostly it's really just hard work, running checks, asking people.  Back at the station, I pulled all available records on the victims, as well as run the prints of Jane Doe through the system.  Jane Doe come back as Tina Rivers, the sister of Gwen Delaney.  One mystery solved.  The aunt had been over for a visit.

It is astounding and disgusting how the life of people is summed up by criminal records, work history and credit card bills.  Apart from a six month sentence for prostitution in 1987, I found nothing whatsoever on Tina Rivers -no credit cards, no bank account, no registered address.  As if she had popped out of nowhere and shown up at her sister's just to get murdered.  According to the next door neighbors, she had gotten there, "something like two or three days ago".  Her arrival had been accompanied by lots if fighting and yelling.  But apparently that had been nothing new at the Delaney's home.  

I cannot claim that I have ever excelled as a husband or a father.  And I am glad that my time as a former is over.  With the latter I'm still struggling.  But with the kind of families that I often deal with on the job, I see myself as not quite such a loser in that regard.

The family yielded somewhat more than Tina Rivers had.  Mr. Delaney had been gainfully employed as a pizza delivery man, his wife had worked for the city, Gardening.  They were rather heavily indebted with the bank, didn't own a car and had no criminal records.  No obvious motives for murder aside from the neighbor who wanted his dough back, but we didn't have enough to hold him.  Frustrated about the lack of clues, I pulled phone records for the last few months.  They had not used the phone very much.  Mr. Delaney had called his employer once.  There had been several calls from Mr. Fredrick, but other than that, nothing.  They had not had much of a social life apparently.  The only number outside Vegas popped up first, ten days prior to the murder.  Two incoming calls, one was twelve seconds and one in four seconds.  The same number again three days later, this time it was only thirty-eight seconds.  Then four days before the murder a longer call, three minutes and forty-six seconds from the same number, the call had been placed at 2 a.m.  Three days before the murder, again an incoming call from outside the city, but a different number than before, the call had lasted ten seconds.  Then immediately after, the Delaney's phone had been used to call that number.  This time it was a call of twenty-four minutes and seven seconds.  Then a call from today, 8.17 p.m. someone had called 911.  It couldn't be the neighbor's; his call had come in shortly before 10 p.m.  The call was short, only seven seconds.  Not enough.  Maybe the killer was already in the house.  I got on the phone to get the recording of the 911 call, as well as addresses to the two out of town numbers.  Hopefully they could get something off the 911 tape at the A/V lab.  My mood had significantly improved and somehow I got the idea to look into a record of criminal activity around the block.  There was plenty.  In the last seventy-two hours there had been two drug related incidents, one stabbing, one rape and four noise complaints.  There were also two parking violations, directly in front of the house, two times the same vehicle.  On a hunch, I pulled a number and ran it through the DMV database.  The registered owner was one Daryl Marks.

That was the first time I came across the name of a man I seriously wish had never existed.  Given the chance, I might have killed him myself.  He is one of the few who I think really deserve a slow and painful death.  


	5. Sara

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers.

MY FIRST IMPRESSION was that this was certainly an interesting case.  The previous week had been filled with your standard cases: Drug deals gone bad, spouses who hadn't heard of divorce yet and a gang related stabbing.

What I really like about my job are the interesting cases; the real mysteries.  They are the ones that challenge me to give all that I have to solve them.  I've got all the tools, both scientific and forensic, at my disposal and I try to reconstruct what has happened based on the evidence.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.  It's the cases that I cannot solve that I have problems with.  I know Grissom thinks I get too emotionally involved in them, and in an honest moment of clarity, I conceded that he is right at times. But only sometimes.   We actually ended up solving the quadruple homicide, so you could say that it worked.  We caught the bad guys and prevented a huge disaster.  But still, in spite of our efforts we, the winners, were the losers in the end.  There were no winners.  In the end everyone lost.  

Having finished the investigation of the crime scene, I felt elated and was downright excited to get started on the evidence that we had collected.  I dumped samples of the blood spatter on Greg's desk, telling him to get to it, and gave Jacqui the prints that Nick and I had dusted at the scene.  After having grabbed a reasonably fresh made cup of coffee, I started out to recreate a virtual model of the apartment which we would later use to reconstruct the events.  I would have rather worked the glass shards from the scene, but Nick and I tossed coins and I lost.  The re-creating of the apartment model went faster than I had expected and since Grissom and Catherine weren't back yet from the scene, I went over to Warrick to check what he was up to.   He was up to shoe prints.

"How's it coming?"

"Not at all.  I got this shoeprint here from the scene,"  He showed me the transparency.  "But what is really strange: first of all, have you ever seen a shoe like this?"

"Let me see," I took a closer look. He was right.  It really was quite peculiar. The print seemed to completely lack the profiling normally found on a shoe sole. "I take it that you already ran it through the database?" 

"Yeah, I did. At first I was thinking like some kind of a slipper, but nothing. I checked out all the shoes at the apartment. Nothing like this.  And it gets stranger.  Take another look at it this," He handed me a magnifying glass.

"What is that?"

"That was my reaction exactly.  Some kind of really fine grain pattern, not like any real profile.  I have no idea what to make of it.  Other than that I just ran a size comparison, came back as an 8.  So we have either male or female.  Without the model, there is nothing else to tell,"

I pictured the scene; the killer, wearing these odd shoes, stepping into the blood of his victims, creating impressions with it on the floor.   

"Warrick, do you maybe have a cut out of the shoe print that I can use?"

"Sure, it's right here,"  He handed me a bagged rectangle of worn carpet.  Squarely on it was the bloody shoeprint.  I pulled out the magnifying glass.  I found what I had been looking for.  Two thin, long strands of material sticking to the blood.  "I'm thinking maybe our shoe is made of a more unusual fabric, like moccasins or something.  And I think that some of the fabric has worn/rubbed off and leaving it behind at the scene,"

"Wow, let's get that to Greggo,"

"He's gonna love that, I just told him to get working on my sample 20 minutes ago,"

"He'll live,"

Greg's ego seemed not to have suffered in the slightest from my rather curt treatment earlier.  On the contrary.  

"Warrick, Sara, I'm the best!" He beamed at us.

"What did you do?"

"I know what your killers are doing in their spare time,"

"Killers?  As in plural?" I asked, ignoring the second part of the sentence.

"Yes, the samples you brought in show that apart from the family there's DNA of two other people,"

"Okay, so there is, but that could be from anyone," I got annoyed, even though there really was no reason.

"No, not in this case.  You see, the blood from the kitchen is both from the victim and from an unidentified subject.  The cells from under the fingernails of Gwen Delaney are from another donor, not someone of the family.  So you got at least two killers," Greg was about the go on.  But I stopped him.  "Hold on, give me a second," I turned to Warrick.

"Your shoe prints show that the killer and Gwen were in the kitchen, right?"

"Yes, if someone else had been there, they would have walked through the blood.  I could hardly move without stepping in it myself,"

"So, the second killer maybe was already in the bedroom with our Jane Doe,"

Greg interrupted me there.  "Brass sent a fax.  Your Jane Doe is known by Tina Rivers, Gwen Delaney's sister.  DNA confirms the relation,"

I bit back an acerbic comment and went on.  "But the fact that there was no struggle, means that the killer was either someone Tina Rivers knew, or he maybe had her at gunpoint, so she didn't resist.  Gwen runs to help her sister, but the second killer follows her and gets her before she enters the bedroom,"

"Possible.  Now, what else do you know about our killers?"

Again we were interrupted, this time by Nick.  

"You paged me?" he asked Greg.

"Yes, I took a look at the substance you found on those glass shards. I ran it through the GC-MS, came back 2,4,6-trinitrotoluene, otherwise known as TNT,"

"Our killers have been handling explosives. Could these have been from industrial or military use?"

"Theoretically it could be, but TNT is known to cause anaemia and liver failure. Skin contact with it causes irritation.  In the industry they'd use appropriate protection,"

"Any way of telling where it came from?"

"Maybe, there were no other useable trace elements. But since prolonged exposure to high concentration of TNT can be detected in blood, we might get something from the blood sample from the scene,"

"Well, do it then. We also found some fibers adhered to a bloody shoeprint,"

"And you'd like to know what it is, right?"

"You got it Greg," 

Figuring out that the killers had been handling explosives was puzzling at best at this point, but ultimately this piece of information would be critical to seeing the bigger picture.  I should really have seen it earlier; how it all fit together.  When I think back it's crystal clear -impossible to miss.  But when you are really into a case, sometimes you just don't see it even though it's there staring you right in the eye.  Maybe science didn't help us in this case.  No, that's not right, science did help us get the bad guys -it was the human part, putting it all together that was too slow.  But we did try our best when we went on to reconstruct those four homicides.  It's just that sometimes the best isn't enough.  It just confirms what I suspected for a long time.  Science doesn't fail, people do.  Knowing that is what makes me able to continue going to the lab each day and continue doing my job.

tbc


	6. Greg

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers.

The worst day of my life started out like any other.  Waking up in later afternoon, since I work nights, pulling something to wear out of the pile on the couch, trying to prevent my apartment from submerging in chaos, putting up with criminally stupid household chores and eventually getting myself to work.  

I love my job, I really do.  But as much as I like working DNA, in the past two years, I've set my eyes on a new goal so to speak.  Becoming a CSI.  Maybe I'm just not cut out for it, and the cultist case really showed me that I should have stayed in that lab of mine.  But there are days when I really feel cooped up in my lab and can't wait to get out in the real world.  This is probably real naive from me, thinking that I could actually do it, working cases out there, away from the safe and secure lab.  Now, in retrospect, I should probably have stayed where I belong.  But really none of what happened was my fault, at least not that I can see.  It was just a row of coincidences, a kind of domino effect if you want.  But when I got to work, in a sunny mood as usual, I knew none of this.  Odd, I think I should have had some kind of ill feeling, but I didn't.

The shift started as always.  I worked through the work left from day-shift, night-shift was away on some case.  I remember thinking that it must be a really big case if they are all working it together.  And I did envy them, especially after Sara dropped by my lab, excitement virtually leaping from her face.  Well, it didn't exactly rub off on her demeanor.  She was as charming as ever around me, dumping blood samples on my desk and telling me to get to it.  It's always the same, everyone wants their results yesterday, or at least ASAP.  No matter how good you are, processes still take their time.  Even when I got back Sara and Warrick's results in my personal record time, they did not show much appreciation.  The warning bells should have gone off inside my head, when I had found the traces of TNT on the glass shards and other things around the scene.  But I was just excited at having found the stuff that quickly.  I know I'm good at what I do.  Not that it did me any good.

The real high point of my day came when Grissom dropped by.  Normally he makes me just a little nervous, not that I'd ever cop to that to anyone.  He is impossible to satisfy.  But he wasn't there to badger me about results.  Far from it actually.  

"Greg," he said pausing, which lead me to assume the worst.  In trouble, missed something, busted a case, fired?!? Okay, maybe I'm crazy or manic or whatever, but with Grissom you never know what's coming.  

"Greg, we are having a briefing regarding tonight's homicides.  I want you to be there,"

I guess I was grinning from ear to ear.  That was the high point of the day; it went really downhill from there on.  First it was only a slight descend, then it would accelerate into dive to hell.

In the briefing room, Sara had powered up a computerized model of the crime scene, complete with avatars representing the family members.  

"Okay, the figures in black are the bodies where we found them.  Living room, kitchen, and bed room," The figures morphed into places.  Watching this made me feel like a kid with a new video game.  

"The figures in red will represent the living people, blue are the killers," Sara explained it.

"First the living room.  Nick, Sara?"

"I'm calling it," Nick said exchanging looks with Sara.  "John, Gwen and Gordon are in the living room, when the killers knock the door.  There is no peephole in the door, so John must have opened it before he saw who he was letting in," On the computer screen, a red figured moved to the door and opened it, just to get blasted in the chest by the little blue figure.  I would have laughed, if I hadn't been aware that we were recreating the murder of an entire family.  Nick went on.

"John is shot in the chest, close range.  That matches Doc Robbins's report.  The killers come in.  Gwen Delaney tries to get away, grabbing her kid, but they won't let her, a struggle ensues, at some point the killer throws the vase, maybe tries to subdue her with it.  But Gwen escapes into the kitchen," The figures did as Nick had said.

"I don't know,"  Catherine had her doubts.  "Gwen was 5'4", 103 lbs according to the autopsy report.  The blood that we found was male.  I don't think she could have resisted against two men, or a man and a woman, especially not if one of them had a gun,"

"Okay, then let's change it," Sara said, her tone of voice not too happy.  I always get the impression that she is racing against everyone, except Grissom maybe, who was just sitting there looking mysterious as ever.

"One of the killers goes to look for Tina, the other struggles with Gwen.  That would work," Again the digital replay visualized the theory.

"We forgot something," Nick said.  I'm actually amazed that he saw it.  Okay, that is mean now, but Nick just isn't the sharpest crayon in the box.  He's a nice guy though.  Anyways, what Nick had noticed was that the killers must have either moved the body or left the door open.  

"Kitchen is next, it's my turn," Warrick said.  "Gwen Delaney is a mother trying to protect her child.  She feels cornered and goes for the knife in the drawer, stabs or cuts the killer, although, I'd go for stabbed based on the amount of blood on the floor.  But that doesn't stop the killer, he still shoots the boy.  Now the mother makes a run for it.  She leaves sock prints and the killer leaves shoe prints, because both walked through the blood pool,"

This was my opportunity to show myself useful.

"I examined the fiber from the shoe print, it's straw.  The killer was wearing shoes with straw soles.  I can tell that it's from a sole, because there are also traces of synthetic glue on it.  It's used to make the straw stick together,"

After we had the murder in the kitchen recreated on screen, Grissom had a question.  

"Gwen Delaney is a woman trying to survive, she has already lost her husband and child.  Why would she not run for the front door? Instead she runs into the bedroom,"

"Maybe she wanted to protect her sister,"

"Bonds between siblings are not that strong, especially not when reduced to instinct in a life and death situation.  Biologically seen, siblings are our rivals,"

"Maybe there was something, an object of some type in the living room, that she was after," Warrick theorized.

"Well forgive me as the non-scientist, but I have to counter your argument Gil.  Gwen Delaney was Tina's older sister.  Gwen's parents died young and she virtually raised her sister, at least that's what social service records say,"  Brass filled them in.

"Okay then that's settled," 

If I think about it now, I think there was a hint of annoyance in Grissom's voice.  He hates to be wrong; he just hides it very well.

"Bedroom for me now,"  Catherine glanced at her notes.  "The two killers forced the women into the bathroom.  Based on the angle of the gunshot wounds to their heads, they were probably hunched over the tub, and shot in the head from above.  Blood in the tub confirms it," She tossed the photograph of the tub on the table.  To my embarrassment I must say, I almost got nauseous, almost that is.  Normally my exposure to blood and guts is limited to nice small samples, nothing as gory as this.  I hope my face didn't give me straight away.  I got a funny look from Nick though; if my face was relatively straight before, it must have shown some funny contortions when Catherine continued.

"Then the killers waited for the women to stop bleeding.  The medicine cabinet was open, bloody fingerprints, not matching the family, were all over -so one of our killers tries to bandage the still bleeding stab wound," She nodded in Warrick's general direction.

"They deposit the letter, and then leave,"

Grissom then projected the letter on the screen.  

"The blood on the letter matches the blood found on the knife.  According to QD, it was printed using a laser printer.  All we need is another printer to compare it with,"

The letter read:

The weak and impure must die.  We have proven ourselves worthy.

There was no signature.  The case was starting to give me an uneasy feeling.  It is different when you just work samples.  It's far less real, so to speak.

"Religious fanatics, some kind of stunt maybe, gang kids proving that they can kill?" Catherine explored the possibilities.

"I say religious extremists.  Impure isn't a word a gang member would write," Grissom said.

"I pulled DNA off the envelope, same as the blood, no hit in CODIS," I explained.

"Cult fits," Brass said.  "There was a call to 911 from the apartment the night of the murder.  It was only seven seconds.  Nothing useful, but Archie is working on it.  I took the tapes from the family's answering machine.  Luckily, it recorded the last two calls made by Tina Rivers to the Delaney's.  It's not much, but still, listen to it.

A quivering female voice filled the room.  It was really creepy.

"Gwen, you have to help me.  I can't do it, I'm too weak.  I don't believe enough.  He'll punish me.  I'm so scared.  I've got to go," The tape clicked off.

"That's number one.  The calls came from a number, registered to Daryl Marks; he also owns a car that got two parking tickets in front of the Delaney's building.  If that isn't a coincidence, here is number two,"

The same voice again: "Please, I... I need to go.  He'll be so angry, he'll kill me, says I'm not worthy.  It's a sin, I can't do it.  I'm sorry.  I will try to get away,"

"So, Tina Rivers was probably a member of some sect or cult and wanted out.  She fled to her sister.  Her fellow cult members didn't take it well, came after her, killed her and the rest of the family.  Maybe they wanted to set an example for other potential dissidents.  I say we need to have a talk with Mr. Marks and have a look at his residence.  Nick, Catherine you can meet up with Detective Vega.  I read your reports Greg about finding traces of TNT on the shards.  Get to work on that blood screen.  Sara, Warrick, you are coming with me.  We are going back to the apartment.  We need to find out exactly where there are traces of the explosive and how they got there,"

I'm not saying it is all Grissom's fault that it all went so wrong, but I don't think that he was aware of what he was doing.  He underestimated the cultists and how far they would go to follow their beliefs.  He's just as human as the rest of us -I'm starting to see that now.  I didn't see it before.  He's always the intimidating master, never to be pleased, always one step ahead of the others.  Well, he made an error in judgment and we ended up paying for it.

tbc


	7. Catherine

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers.

Brass had pulled the records on Daryl Marks's properties.  Apart from being the owner of several vans, one of which had been at the apartment complex the night of the murders, he also owned a company called Heavenly Path.  The company property was outside Vegas.  

Nick and I were supposed to go there with Detective Vega, who was also investigating the case.  Grissom and Brass were looking into the TNT, and possible origins.  We had met him before at the scene.  Local police had never had any problems with Marks, but there had been a few noise complaints in recent weeks.  An officer had dropped by but everything was in order.  He had not seen anything suspicious.  Other than that, the company had not drawn any attention to itself, tax forms had been filed punctually and correctly.  On the outside, it was a perfect facade.  But from the evidence we had gathered, it seemed more like Daryl Marks had used the estate to establish a small following, a murderous following.  I have to admit that made me just a little nervous.  Nick looked like it made him more than just a little nervous.  Detective Vega looked displeased as always.  I can't help myself, just never liked the man and don't miss not having had more opportunities to work with him.  Still he did deserved better.

It took us several wrong turns to reach the property of the "Heavenly Path" company.  It was far enough away from all other buildings to allow cultists to carry on with whatever they were up to, without anyone snooping around.  Still the area was fenced off, but the padlock on the fence was open.  Detective Vega went in first.  Following my training, I surveyed the area.

"Look at that tire treads.  Looks like someone left in a hurry,"  I pointed to the disturbances in the gravel yard.

"Yeah, also, have a look at this," Nick pointed.  "Looks like a blood trail.  Our injured killer maybe?"

"Maybe, I'm gonna take a sample,"  We were in the right place.  That was now clear.

We looked at Vega for instructions.  He could have called it off there, called in reinforcements, but he didn't.  Instead, he carefully made his way to the entrance.  

"Las Vegas Police, open up, we have a warrant to search the premises,"

There was no sound from the inside.  Vega banged against the wooden door.  No answer again.  He drew his gun, Nick and I did the same.  Vega tested the door, it was open.  He went inside, the two of us following.  Situations like this always cause me to tense up, no matter how often I have done this.  I figure it's a bit like gambling, just with higher stakes.  I've always been one for the quick rush.  

On the inside, the barn was far better maintained than one would have expected when seeing the depilated exterior.  The front door led into a corridor with doors leading off on both sides.  The walls were decorated with large black and white photographs.  I took a closer look.  All featured the same man, over several decades, in various poses.  He was always wearing simple white clothing, smiling into the camera.  Vegas was edging forward, again announcing our intentions and asking anyone present to come forward.  As the rules required, Nick and I stayed behind waiting for him to clear the building.  That was a mistake.  It might have been what the book said, but it was the wrong thing to do.  It got Vega killed.  But nobody can change that now.  What had happened -happened.  Vega had cleared all rooms to the sides and proceeded to the last room, lying straight ahead from the front entrance.  He had disappeared from my field of vision, when there was the sudden sound of a gun being fired followed by a scream coming from Vega.

It was immediately clear what had happened.  The implication was that we were not alone and that who ever was there did not want us in there.  I didn't think, but acted on instinct.  Instinct told me to get the hell away from there.  Not wanting to alert the shooter to our presence I made hand signs to Nick, signaling that we should leave.  Nick seemed to have frozen up after hearing the shot and Vega's scream.  I just ran over and grabbed his arm, still trying not to make any noise, but the old creaking hardwood floor made that impossible.  A shot was fired in our direction hitting nothing.  My head spun around without my brain giving the command.  The man from the pictures was standing in the door, a gun trained on Nick and me.  The lighting was to our advantage now.  We were standing in the dimly lit corridor whereas he was coming from a well lit room.  I guess the only reason that he didn't hit either of us on his first shot was that his eyes had to adjust to the lighting first.  I'm not sure who exactly fired next.  I fired my gun several times and so did Nick.  One of us hit the man, who would later turn out to be Daryl Marks, leader of the Heavenly Path cult.  Daryl Marks cried out in pain, as his white robes were becoming stained with crimson.  He fell down to his knees, but continued to fire at us.  I think it was then that Nick was hit.  Like in slow motion, I saw him fall over, coming down on his side.  I fired somewhere in Marks's general direction, or that is what I intended to do, but my gun merely clicked impotently, I was out of ammo.  Now, I was trapped between the urge to help Nick and the instinct to flee and save at least my life.  Marks had registered that I was no longer a threat to him.  In spite of his injury he was still moving, he was moving toward me.  I saw him and couldn't move.  The feeling of utter impotency in the face of disaster was among the worst things I have ever felt.  And there was a lot of that stuff.  

"You cannot destroy us.  They will always be loyal to me," He laughed a sick laugh.  Words were etched into my memory.  I can still remember as if it was yesterday that Daryl Marks stood over me with his gun in hand.

"Look at you, forgotten by your God.  He isn't there for you.  We have the true strength.  You and all the vermin will perish in death.  But we, we will transcend death.  Today is the day of our transition, a day that the world will not forget.  The fires will rage and burn the sinners.  Too bad you will be there for it.  The fire would have redeemed you all," 

Alarm bells went off in my head, if that was even possible.  Somehow, I managed to break out of my frozen state and reach for Nick's gun, which was lying about two feet from me.  I got to it and pressed the trigger, aiming at Marks at about the same time he pressed the trigger.  The pain is all I remember about actually getting shot.  Then I must have blacked out.  When I came to again, Marks was gone.

When I was down on the floor, it was extremely strange, not at all the way I would have envisioned that, not that I ever really did.  It was surreal at best, I was lying on my back, knowing that I had just been shot, but my mind refused to immediately acknowledge this at first.  I wondered why I was hurting so much and why I couldn't get up, why I couldn't really breathe.  From the corner of my eye I saw blood, blood in a growing pool.  I remember asking myself, who was bleeding that badly.  My mind finally came up to speed when I turned my head to the other side and saw Nick sprawled on the floor as well, bleeding from his back.  I couldn't see his face from my position, so I had no way of knowing whether or not he was conscious.  

"Nick?" 

No answer.  

"Nick," I called out not sure whether my voice got up to an audible volume.

He didn't respond.  That's the moment when I knew it all.  We had been ambushed, Vega had been killed, and then the guy had come for us, first hitting Nick then me.  Had he killed Nick?  I couldn't allow myself to ponder that right now.  An ambulance, I reached for my cell phone at my belt.  The movement caused me excruciating pain, but the thought of my life and Nick's life at stake outweighed it by far.  I finally got a grip on the phone and managed to bring it up to my face again.  In retrospect it seems like it took me hours, but in reality it can only have taken a minute at the most.  I called 911, knowing that this was faster than calling Grissom.  The operator told me to hang on and leave the phone turned on.  Then I was one with my thoughts.  I thought of the strangest things then.  Of course, I was thinking about whether the ambulance would get to us in time, whether Nick was dead or just unconscious, I thought that I might never see my daughter again.  But I also thought that it was a shame that I had been wearing this particular blouse, since I had always liked it and now it had a bullet hole in it and blood stains all over it.  It had been expensive as hell, too.  When I think about it now, it seems crazy how I could think about my clothes at that time, but I think my mind was just trying to distract me to keep me calm and keep me from thinking about dying and leaving my daughter behind.

The time I spent lying on the floor in that barn seemed like hours, but later I learned that it had been less than twenty minutes until the ambulance had arrived.  I could not have lasted much longer.  That last thing I remember is hearing sirens in the distance.

Could we have done differently? Maybe yes, maybe no.  Maybe Vega's life could have been saved.  But we cannot go back and change it, so I don't dwell on it.  It sounds cruel I know.  But doing that eats you up.  There is always a present to focus on and make it better than the past.

tbc


	8. Gil

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers.

NOW THAT WE KNEW what we were looking for, I saw the scene with different eyes.  First would had to find the places in which there were residues of TNT, then figure out exactly how they had transmitted.  My guess what that they had been on the hands of the killers, but we needed proof of that.  Also the presence of other trace substances could tell us how the explosive was stored and possible other substances the killers had handled.  Brass was at the station conferring with the robbery/theft department about any recent "disappearances" of TNT.  Of course they did not have to have stolen it themselves.  Explosives are always on demand on the black market.  We systematically taped the windows with paper, making sure it was dark in the apartment.  Donning protective goggles, we started examining the room inch by inch using the portable UV detector set at 238 nm.  Traces of TNT, indicated by fluorescence when exposed to this particular frequency of UV, were virtually everywhere.  The inside door handle, the couch.  We had worked our way half-way though the living room, in a slow and tedious process when my cell phone went off.  It was Brass.

"I did some background digging on TNT.  It is used for both military and industrial blasting operation.  In the US it's only manufactured at military arsenals, but abroad there are also commercial manufacturers.  It's virtually impossible to break into a military plant and there were no recorded thefts in state.  They could have gotten from a civilian demolition operation though.  While transport is strictly regulated, once the stuff is on site, it's usually kept in minimally secured vaults.  They have been known to disappear on occasion.  Or a blaster just saved some of it.  Explosives bring good prices on the black market.  The database gave two thefts from demolition sites in the last two years in Nevada.  I'm looking into the files right now,"

"Okay, thank you," We were just about the resume our work when Greg called.

"Hi, Grissom.  I'm done with the blood test, thought you would want to know as soon as I got the results," Greg's exuberance was about to annoy me.  But I have to give him credit, he really got the results done fast.  "The blood tests did show elevated concentrations indicating prolonged exposure, maybe also consuming food grown on contaminated soil.  As a result of improper storage, TNT leaks into the soil, resulting in plants having abnormal concentrations of 2A-DNT and 4A-DNT.  But, I've got something else," He paused.

"What else did you find?" The games were definitely annoying me.

"It's what I did not find.  Normally TNT is mixed with either RDX or HMX.  I found neither in the sample from the scene,"

"What does that tell us Greg?  The evidence doesn't just have to be found, a CSI also has to know what it means," I'm afraid I came across harsher than necessary.  For sure, it was harsher than I should have been.

"I don't know" Greg sounded abashed.  "Maybe they just aren't pros"

Again we didn't get a chance to go ahead with processing the scene.

Less than a minute after Greg had hung up, my phone rang again.  Slightly exasperated and mentally cursing permanent reach ability I answered again.

"Gil, it's me again," I recognized Brass's voice.  His tone did not speak of good news.  

"Just got a call from PD, Vega, Nick and Catherine were ambushed at the "Heavenly Path" estate.  Shot,"

"How are they?" The response was pure instinct.

"Vega's dead.  He was already dead when the paramedics got there.  Nick and Catherine have been taken to the Desert Palms.  It's serious but according to first prognosis not life-threatening,"

"Thank god.  What about the attacker?"

"Daryl Marks, he was shot as well.  He might not make it,"

I hung up, feeling, well not feeling at all.  Dazed is probably the best way to put it.  I didn't notice that Sara and Warrick were looking at me expectantly.  They had only heard my side of the conversation and thus knew that something had happened.  I'm not good in situations like that.  

"There has been an ambush at the scene.  Vega's been killed, Catherine and Nick were injured.  They are at the hospital now," I made a pause, allowing them and myself to process the information.  Then I went on, somebody had to keep ahead of the situation.  And as the supervisor that's my job.  

"Warrick can you go and meet Brass at the "Heavenly Path" estate.  I'm asking Ecklie to loan us someone from day-shift as well.  Sara, we'll finish up here and we'll join you there later on if needed,"

I was confident to have handled the situation as good as possible.  Sara, however, disagreed with me.

"I don't get this.  Hell, I don't get you Grissom.  How can you just carry on like nothing happened?  An officer has been killed, Catherine and Nick have been shot, and you don't even flinch," Sara's voice was getting slightly shrill.  

"I'll keep you posted,"  Warrick quietly slipped out of the room, effectively removing himself from the situation and leaving me there alone to deal with Sara.

"Sara," I started out hoping to get my point across.  "We have to focus on the case if we want to catch the rest of the cultists and prevent them from doing whatever it is they are planning.  There might be more lives at stake in this.  We cannot allow our personal feelings to interfere with the casework.  Right now, there is nothing we can do for Nick or Catherine except figuring out the puzzle,"

"I get it," Sara said, her tone making it clear that she left plenty unsaid.  I pushed the issue aside, and in a well trained mental movement closed the door to my emotion, allowing me to concentrate on the task at hand.

None of us talked on the ride to the hospital.  Sara and Greg were clearly wrapped up in their own thoughts and worries and I didn't know anything adequate to say.  I felt guilty.  I still do.  I had taken the case too lightly, had not seen the big picture of what was going on.  I was still having trouble with it.  It was clear that the cultist had planned something for today.  Tina Rivers had gotten cold feet -that's why she was killed.  Vega, Nick and Catherine had then interrupted Daryl Marks, who in turn had shot them down.  Now Daryl Marks was in critical condition in the hospital.  Hopefully his clothes could give us more clues about his whereabouts of the previous days and thus tell us where the cultists were planning something.  After the shooting I felt that I had to do something, something to make it right again.  I was going to do whatever it took to stop the cultists.  Unfortunately my realization of my failure to picture the evidence in the grand scheme of things didn't help me to predict what was going to happen next.  I don't know whether I am expecting too much of myself here, or whether a person was better empathy skills could have figured it out. Maybe I should have consulted an expert in cults.  But, as they say, you always know better afterwards.  I had not expected that the cultists, their leader in the hospital, would be totally at a loss, without guidance.  I had not fully understood their belief in Daryl Marks as a god, a god for whom they were ready to die and a god for whom they were going to kill.

tbc


	9. Greg

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers.

NORMALLY I WOULD have been bubbling with excitement at the chance to work out in the field again, but my joy was considerably reduced by the news of the shooting.  Really that didn't happen, I thought.  That's why an officer clears the scene, to prevent exactly that from happening.  But it still had happened, happened to people I knew.  I had already been working at the lab when Holly Gribbs had been shot on her first night, but I hadn't known her.  I was still sort of recovering from my phone call to Grissom earlier.  I always made me feel like I suck at the job and don't have what it takes to be a CSI one day.  Not that his opinion of me matter anymore.  The call telling me of the shooting came as I was just about to take a short break.  After all, it was already past the official end of my shift.

Grissom was as cryptic as ever on the phone.

"Greg, Grissom.  There has been a shooting at the "Heavenly Path" compound.  The suspect Daryl Marks is at Desert Palms hospital.  Can you meet Sara and me there, in thirty minutes?"

"Sure," Only after I said it, the implications of his statement dawned on me.  "What about Nick and Catherine?"

"At the hospital, they'll make it," With that he hung up and I was left with the question whether he was just plain not human, a theory which I entertained especially in the beginning of my time at the lab, or whether he himself was at a loss to deal with the events.  I think I subscribe to the second theory.  Another question still left unanswered is why he took me along to the hospital.  Pity, giving me another chance? Guess I'll never find out, because what happens at the hospital would be the low-point of my week.  Hell, it'd be the low-point of anyone's day.  It's not just me bitching here.

When I met them in the hospital lobby, Grissom was looking grim and Sara was looking pissed.  I decided to just keep quiet to avoid my head being chopped off.  Well, my head stayed on, but I ended up with a hole in the chest.  The tale of how I came by it is a little sketchy; my memory isn't playing nice with me there.

We had an appointment with Marks's doctor.  We rode the elevator up to the eighth floor, the duty nurse send us into a small separate waiting room, adjoining to the doctor's office.  We had just been asked inside when there loud yelling outside, followed the sound of gunfire.  Before I could even start to be scared the door glass was shattering, the shards flying all over the room.  I think I got hit by a couple of them too, but it really went all so fast that I cannot quite piece it together.  There were more shots, I think three of them.  Then it all happened at one, everyone expect Grissom panicked, there was yelling, Sara probably, the doctor fell over on his desk, blood rushing from his chest, dripping over his files.  I couldn't move or think.  I heard that Grissom was yelling at me to get down, but I couldn't move.  This is the one thing that I believe could have changed it all.  I really wish I had ducked, more than I have wished for anything before.  But I couldn't.  There was another explosion of gunfire and suddenly I hurt more than I thought it was possible.  It felt like something was burning me alive.  I couldn't breathe.  I don't really remember hitting the ground, but I guess I must have.  There is a bit missing then, I figure.  There sure is some medical reason for that and normally that would have fascinated me, but I really couldn't care less about that right now.  Anyways, the pain scaled down to just the upper edge of bearable and I noticed Sara sitting on the floor next to me.  She was even holding my hand.  I can't say that I didn't like that, it was just ill-timed.  I never thought I'd even get her to go on a date with me, let alone hand-holding.

I was just about to start enjoying the situation a little bit, in spite of the burning pain, when the realization hit me like a second bullet.  I was going to die.  I cannot really put it into words how it feels when you realize that you are going expire now.  It was a bit like back when I was a child and first realized that people had to die and that I would have to eventually as well.  Back then it seemed so unjust, so unfair.  But then as we get older we push back the thought, knowing that it'll be someday, but not today and not tomorrow.  Suddenly that privilege of denial was taken away from me.  That sucked.  I was scared, more than ever before and more than I ever will be, I guess.  

Panic must have shown on my face, because Sara started trying to calm me down.  

"Just relax Greg, you're going to be fine…You're going to be fine," Her voice tells me that she is lying and that she is scared.  "Grissom, do something," Her voice is panicky, little-girl like.

I don't know how or if Grissom reacted in anyway to me bleeding to death on the floor.  I was having increasing trouble keeping focused on anything in the room.  Sara said some more things, but I only captured bits of it, something with "worry", "no" and "going to be fine".  That was definitely not happening.  If it were I wouldn't be in this position right now.  

Right now Sara's voice is fading into a whooshing sound, a bit like a washing machine.  There is lots of undone laundry on my couch.  Gosh, what am I thinking! I'm all cold.  That's bad.

Where's Grissom? I can't see him.  It's getting darker in the room.  At least, it isn't hurting that badly any more, and I'm not that scared anymore.  But I'm still afraid.  I never believed that there was anything after the mortal life.  The Christian idea of Heaven and Hell never quite fit in with my scientific mind-set.  Besides, I was too busy living to ponder that question in much detail.  I guess that I'm about to find out the answer to the one question science will never be able to answer.

But suddenly I know I can't change it, I can't fight it.  It would have happened sooner or later, but I was still hoping for another fifty years.

I don't want it to end like that, lying on linoleum floor, blood all over me, dying.  Hell, I don't want it to end at all.  I don't want to die.  But this is the end for me.  This is the end of my story, the end of my life.

tbc


	10. Sara

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers.

DEATH IS A part of my profession, yet this was the first time I ever saw anyone die.  I wasn't prepared for it.  It was different.  That is all I can say to describe it.  It is one of the things that cannot be described one has to live it.  When Greg died right there, my holding his hand, it was unreal.  My mind understood what had happened.  It was a series of logical steps, one following the other.

Greg had been shot, he had died, but somehow I could not process it.  Truth be told, I was scared, more than ever before.  Not specifically scared, because of the situation I was in, all though that did play a part for sure.  But seeing Greg being terrified, seeing him die was something I was not prepared for.  I don't know how long I just sat there, still holding his hand.  

I sat there frozen up, lost in thoughts and unable to move.  Suddenly yanking on my arm interrupted my thoughts.  A young woman had violently pulled me to my feet.  She had a gun in the other hand.  Seldom had the sight of a firearm frightened me that much.  I even carry a gun myself.  I put on the holster beginning of my shift.  But seeing a gun in her hand was what triggered a wave of fear.  It wasn't pointed at me, but it was enough.  My shock over Greg's death had prevented me from realizing in what kind of situation Grissom and I were.  Seeing her gun brought it to my mind.

"Over there in the corner," the woman commanded.  When I didn't immediately move, she raised her gun.  I noticed her arms shaking.  "Move or I'll shoot you, just like him," She inclined her head as to indicate Greg's body on the floor.  It was as if fear was paralyzing me.  I never thought that could happen to me, it happened only to other people.

The next thing I know is Grissom pulling me over to the corner, dragging me away from the door.  As always there was no obvious emotion on his face, but I think I saw the ripples beneath.

He would never admit it, but he wasn't prepared for that either, though he was trying hard not to show it.  But I think that Gil Grissom was scared.  Scared at being shown how powerless he is, and ultimately scared to die.  He's only human too, I'm seeing that now.  He shows no emotions, and I used to believe that he really didn't have them.  He probably has suppressed them long enough, but they are still there.

tbc


	11. Gil

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers.

I didn't allow myself to dwell on what had happened just before.  It was pointless, there was nothing Sara or I could have done to save Greg's life.  But still, I felt bad afterwards for just coldly moving on.  My focus was getting out of there alive and preventing any further loss of life.  

Outside in the waiting room, I could hear the cultists talk.  Even though they were talking softly, I could make out most of what they were saying.

Someone was crying outside, a woman.  At first I though it was one of the hospital employees, but the context of the following conversation made it clear that she was one of the cultists.  From her voice, I could tell that she wasn't the girl we had seen earlier.

A male voice was trying to calm her down.

"Shh, don't cry, you just have to have faith.  He would never abandon us.  He'll lead us to the new world,"

"I...I know.  I believe.  He looks so weak, the doctor said he ...That cannot be," Her words were punctuated by sobs.

"The doctors don't understand us.  They are weakened by their sins.  He is strong and cannot be stopped by the impure.  He will rise and join us.  You know that.  You were chosen, you mustn't doubt that now,"

"I will never doubt him,"

"Then you have nothing to fear.  Come on, we must let the others know,"

I was beginning to see the scope of the cultists' delusions and that told me that the situation had reached an impasse.  Daryl Marks was in no shape to be leaving the hospital, and his followers would never deviate from their plan.  They genuinely believed that this was the day of their transition.  They had mentioned a new world.  That indicated that they were probably planning to kill themselves.  But they couldn't do it alone.  They were like lost children without Daryl's input.  They were ready to die today.  The police was probably already all over the building, the HRT moving into position.  There was no way out for Daryl' followers.  The only person who would be able to maybe persuade them to surrender was Daryl himself.  But even if he were willing, there was no way I could get to him.  There was indeed nothing I could do right now.  I sat down on the desk not sure what to do next, except wait.  But I didn't even know what I was waiting for, except waiting for it to end in a bloodbath.  Sara was sitting on the floor, blood all over her shirt and hands.  She looked far away -totally unaware of the situation.  Seeing Greg die right in front of her must have shocked her, my mind presented me with an analysis.  It was then that the young woman came in the room again.  Before, I had still been mentally dazed by the shock from the events, so I had not paid as much attention to her as I should have, another mistake, but a crucial one. I don't know… it's very difficult to find that out in retrospect.  Sometimes, I'm inclined to agree with Catherine.  No use dwelling on the past.  But my mind doesn't agree.

The woman was young, younger than twenty, probably.  She was one of the followers, dressed in a simple, old fashioned dress, wearing straw bound sandals.  It then occurred to me then that we didn't even know how may of theme were there.  There were the four men, which had stormed to office, killed Greg and Dr. Hellman, taken our phones and weapons.  I had also seen a middle aged woman, in the waiting area with a gun.  So the five of them plus the girl made at least six followers.  None of them seemed injured, so there might be another one, the person who had killed Gwen Delaney.

The girl just looked at us.  Her facial expression was puzzling, no hatred, no fear, just a resigned smile on her face.  I forced myself to analyze the change in situation.  By the way she was holding the gun I could tell that she had no practice with firearms, something which went to our advantage.  However, given the size of the room, even with a poor aim she could still lethally wound Sara or me.  But they wouldn't kill us just yet, only when they realized that there was no way out they would kill us.  For now, having hostages gave them an advantage in the bargaining process.  I wasn't quite sure how clearly they were thinking in assessing their situation and to which degree their judgment was clouded by indoctrination.  

"Mr. Grissom?" the girl asked, more than stated.  Her voice was much younger than her appearance.  She might even be as young as sixteen it occurred to me.

"That's me," I said.

"The police want to know that you are still alive," she said and reached with her free hand into the pocket of her dress.  She pulled out a cell phone.  It was my own phone, which they had taken when they had stormed the office.

tbc


	12. Warrick

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers.

NORMALLY WORKING with Ecklie would be impossible, ending endless bickering and territorialism.  But on our particular case, none of us made the usual snide comments or questioned the other's competence.  We, Ecklie and me, worked the scene at the "Heavenly Path" estate in silence, acutely aware of what had taken place there.  I have no idea what Grissom said to him on the phone, but whatever it was it must have worked wonders.  

It was clear that the cultists had left their lair without the intention of returning to it.  Everything was cleaned up.  There were no books, no paper or anything else found in the entire building.  They had calculated with the possibility in mind that the compound could be searched and had aimed to destroy all evidence of their plan.  But time had obviously not allowed them to get completely rid of everything.  It was the first and maybe only lucky break of the entire case.  In the backyard, behind the barn was a huge smoldering pile, a cloud of reeking smoke coming from it.  Someone was trying to burn the evidence.

Flames are tricky.  One can't allow them to continue eating away the evidence, but pouring water on to usually destroys what the fire didn't.  Fortunately, the fire was not burning, merely smoldering away.  No need to call the fire department.  What I still don't get is how the police could have missed that when they went in after Catherine's 911 call?  They could have saved a lot of the evidence.  But that's just one of the little mistakes that were made during the investigation.  But little mistakes do add up.  In the end that makes it so difficult. It's easy when there is one person to blame for things gone wrong.  But when there isn't, one is always left with doubts about one's own faults.  That's the worst thing for me.

Most of the pile had been paper, books, and loose paper, a lot of it burnt beyond recognition.  But I knew that even when it looked hopeless to the naked eye, there was still hope of finding out what had been on the original document.  But that would take time.  And I already had the feeling that time was the one thing we didn't have.

The surprise lay beneath the pile of paper -a body.  Most probably that of a man, but his severely burnt state made it impossible to tell anything else.  Resigned I called the coroner again.  

"Brown, come over here," Ecklie called from inside the building.

He was in a room opposite the door.  The room was different from the very simple other room.  It had better furniture and there was a computer along with a laser printer.  Comparison with the note would later show that this was the printer the letter found in the Delaney's apartment had been printed on.  We didn't touch the computer, knowing to better to leave that to the experts.  

"It would surprise me a lot if they had gone to the trouble of torching all the stuff and then leave the computer intact," I commented wryly.

While I had worked the outside, and Ecklie had taken a look at Marks's room, which was the only one that gives access to the backyard, we now moved into the corridor.  Before, my mind had been able to write it off as any other crime scene, but the blood in the corridor reminded me that Nick and Catherine had been shot there.

"Police take their guns?" Ecklie asked, having noticed that there were no guns to be seen.

I had noticed the same thing.  "No, and at least one of them must have gotten their gun out to shoot Marks with.  Besides, if the scene was not fully secured then they would have had their guns out anyways.  So where are they?" The case was becoming more puzzling the deeper we got into it.

"Marks couldn't have taken them.  So he wasn't alone,"

"If someone else was there, why didn't they kill Nick and Catherine, or try to help Marks for that matter?" It was hopeless, no matter how hard I tried; I just could not fit all the pieces of this case together.  Every time I thought I had figured it out, something else popped up, destroying my theory.

When I thought things could really not get any worse, I got the call which really made my day.  It was from Brass.  There had been a hostage situation at the hospital.  Suddenly the cult group had turned up, taken several people hostage.  There had been shots fired and at least one person killed.  I knew that Grissom, Sara and Greg had driven over to the hospital to talk to Daryl Marks and to see whether there were any new on Catherine and Nick.  My mind immediately connected the dots, and I knew that they were in this screwed up hostage business.  I don't really believe in psychic ability and all that stuff, I'm all fir had facts and science, but I just knew, I can't explain it.  I told Jacqui to keep me posted and call me the minute she got anything and hurried to meet Brass at the hospital.  It's a miracle that I didn't get stopped for speeding on the way there.  When I got out of the car, there were already legions of officer's from what appeared to be at least ten different law enforcement agencies.  Brass is waving at me, his face grimmer than usual.  

"We know next to nothing.  They won't admit that,"  He pointed in the general direction of a cluster of suit-clad people.  But they don't know how many of them there are, or where exactly they have holed themselves up.  There was a shooting on the eighth floor, where Daryl Marks is, at least two dead.  They won't let anyone on the floor.  We think they might be in there,"

"Oh shit.  Any word on Grissom yet?" My bad feeling had intensified since getting here.

"No, I don't want to try his cell just yet,"

That was when a typical FBI style guy came over to us, introducing himself as Agent Richter from the FBI.  

"You have been on this case since this morning?" he asked.

"Yes, we got called to a murder scene.  As far as we have figured one of the cult members get cold feet and didn't want to go along with some sacrificial ritual they had planned for today.  We traced a vehicle back to a farm owned by Daryl Marks the cult leader.  At the farm an officer and two CSIs got into a shooting, the officer Detective Sam Vega was killed, Marks and CSIs Stokes and Willows were injured" I tried to give as an objective run-down as possible.  

Agent Richter nodded.  "Unfortunately we have no information on this cult.  We have a department tracking cultist activities in the U.S., but we suspect that a number of small groups, which never had legal trouble and have small membership slip through the system," 

I was amazed at an FBI agent freely admitting flaws of the system.

"We confiscated a number of documents from the farm, along with a computer.  Most of the documents were burnt, but we are working on them.  As far as we know the members perceive themselves as pure and worthy, the outside world is full of impure sinners.  As far as we could piece together, they see it as their task to sacrifice themselves to wake up the world and cleanse it.  But most is rather unclear.  The computer has some sort of encryption on it, we are working on it now. It looks like it was Daryl Marks' own computer, as the rest of the farm is all low-tech," 

Agent Richter then showed us over to a room on the ground floor of the hospital.  They had sat up a small command post there.  The FBI really does not lack funding, that was evident from the impressive display of technology. I just hoped that technology was enough to get them out of there safely, if it was not already too late for that.  Just after we had come in, an agent called Richter that the video system was all set up.

"On this screen we have to current video feed, from all six cameras on that floor.  We are only receiving feed from on of them.  She pointed to a rectangle in the right corner of the screen.  The pictured showed a door labeled storage,"

"On this screen I've set up the footage up to the point when the cameras stopped transmitting.  Here we have the presumed cultists,"

She fast forwarded the switched to normal play.  Three men, in dress similar to Marks, exited to elevator and headed down the corridor out of the range of the camera.  The agent switched to another video feed.  

"Here we see them ask the nurse.  Unfortunately the camera is video only, no audio,"

One of the men was talking to the nurse, an argument started.  Suddenly, one of the other men, who had kept in the background, pulled out a gun and shot the nurse.  

It had come unexpectedly, and shocked me.  I think that before, I could not really picture the situation, but now it hit me just how bad it was. They had no hesitation what-so-ever.  I turned back to the screen.  The men left the nurses station and entered a room to its left.  

"From the layout plan, we know that this is Dr. Hellman's office, she's Marks physician.  There is no camera inside so we don't know what's going on.  Only one of them exits the room again before the feed stops," She fans forward again.  "Here, he exits.  At first, we paid no attention to the two women here, but look at what they are doing,"  She switched to another part of the footage.  Two cultist style dressed women exited to the elevator.  They looked up directly at the camera then it went blank.

"The women were disabling the camera's," Richter summarized.

"Yes, it's the same for all of them,"

"Is there a camera trained on Marks's room?" Richter asked.

"I was getting to that," the agent explained.  "Here it is,"

The same guy that has come out of the office, his gun drawn and was approaching the officer posted in front of Marks room. The officer saw him and fired before the cultist did. The officer was just about to reach for his radio, when he was gunned down from someone off screen.  One of the women entered the picture and took out the camera. "Until then I had merely listened, but I got an idea,"  

"Can you maybe it go back further in the video, showing us who went into the doctor's office before the cultists entered?"

"Sure,"

She clicked keys and a few seconds later, we were watching the rewind of the corridor's surveillance.  I saw it in the rewind already, but it became painfully clear when she switched to normal play.  Grissom, Sara and Greg went into the office, presumably to talk to Dr. Hellman.  They didn't come out again.  

'Oh shit,' was all I was thinking.


	13. Brass

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers. Also, I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed and provided constructive criticism. It helps me to write better.

Hostage situations are not my usual area of expertise.  I'm an old-fashioned homicide investigator, who had a stint once as CSI Supervisor.

During my career, I've only dealt with two hostage negotiations, and I can't say I envy those who routinely deal with them.  The first one was almost fifteen years ago, when a bank robbery had turned into a hostage situation.  Then it had ended fairly well, the robbers had been easily overpowered by the police, none of the hostages had been harmed.  But that isn't the norm.  I knew that when I was standing in the makeshift command centre, watching the surveillance footage.  The guys in the bank were heroin addicts without a plan, suffering from a bad case of withdrawal, they had never planned on taking hostages and all they had were two handguns.  This here was different.  The cultists were heavily armed, as we could tell from the empty boxes of ammo found on their farm.  They had a plan, even though we were not entirely sure what it was.  And they were willing to die for their twisted beliefs.  But the worst difference was that there are people involved that I know.  Everything gets worse when anonymous victims and innocent bystanders are suddenly co-workers.  I had learned that painful lesson from my daughter's involvement in a homicide.

"Okay, this is the plan," Agent Richter had sounded like he knew what he was doing.  I just hoped that he did.  

"Our first objective is to establish contact with the cultists, assess the situation of the hostages and learn whether they have any demands.  This will lay the ground for the determination of our strategy.  Since the phone lines appear to have been cut, we will attempt to establish contact via cell phone.  Detective Brass, do you have the cell phone numbers of the hostages?"

I gave him the numbers, keeping my comment about this being a bad idea to myself.  Bickering and complaining wasn't going to help them at all.  And I had to agree with Agent Richter, there was no other way to find out quickly.  The lab would eventually crack the computer, but that could take time they didn't have.

Agent Richter asked the technician to set up the connection.

Richter was wearing a headset, as he was going to do the talking, but it was set so that the entire room could hear what was being said.  

Only after maybe the tenth ring, someone picked up.

"Yes?" an angry male voice asked.

"This is Agent Richter with the FBI.  To whom am I talking?"

The question was ignored.  "What do you want from us?"

"First of all, we would like to make sure that the hostages are alright,"

There was a pause.  "They are fine," he said, but his tone did not convince me.  

"We'd like to have some form of reassurance for that.  Would it be possible for me to talk to Mr. Grissom?"

Another pause.  Hoping normally isn't my style.  I don't believe in it.  But this time I seriously hoped that the silence on the other end was a good sign.  There was muffled talking in the background, the guy was probably talking to someone.  Then he got back on the phone.

"All right," There was the sound of someone walking on linoleum floor, more muffled words.  I could make out something about "police" and "talk to".

"Yes?" This time Grissom's voice filled the briefing room.

"That you Mr. Grissom?"

"Yes,"

"I'm Agent Richter with the FBI.  Are you and the others unharmed?"

"Ms. Sidle and I are fine.  Dr. Hellman and Greg Sanders are dead.  There were more shots, so someone else might be injured as well,"

"Have they made any demands?"

"Yes, they apparently want to take Daryl Marks with them,"

"Don't say that name!" A raging female voice was audible.  Then there was a cluttering sound, like the cell phone had fallen to the ground.  Then we received nothing more.  In spite of the new information we had gathered from this phone conversation, I couldn't help but think that it had done nothing to improve the situation of Grissom and the others.

_tbc_


	14. Warrick

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers. Also, I'd like to tank everyone who has reviewed this story and provided constructive criticism.

Grissom's voice had come through loud and clear down here.  For most of the people, it was just another situation.  But it really hit me, when I heard about Greg being dead.  That didn't happen.  He wasn't even a CSI and was not supposed to get out in the field.  Then the day he did, he got killed by some whacko cultist.  It's little consolation, but afterwards I learned that it was at least quick.  He was shot in the chest and quickly bled to death.  It doesn't really make much of a difference, but for some reason it does to me.  After the call, the FBI people got together to discuss their strategy.  I really didn't have much of a part in that.  I sat at the table too, but only half-listened to what was being said.  A psychologist was talking about cults in general.  I didn't see how that was going to help them really.  We had no idea what their actual agenda was, aside from getting Marks.  From the evidence at the barn, it was only clear that today was their day of sacrifice.  The meeting droned on, in what I felt was a criminal waste of valuable time, time during which it could only escalate.  From that beginning I had thought that there wasn't going to be a peaceful way out of this.  And sadly enough I was right.

About two hours into the meeting, my pager went off and I excused myself into the lobby.  It was the lab.  Jacqui had run all the prints from the farm and they had started to make headway on the burnt documents.

"Mr. Brown, I have got you the results you wanted.  I got at least ten distinct set of prints from the farm.  Only three hits from the database, Daryl Marks, forty-two for tax evasion in the mid eighties, Charlotte May, age thirty-one for prostitution and embezzlement, and June Allen, seventeen, marijuana at age fourteen.  Two sets of prints match the Delaney apartment,"

"Good work, at least now we know how many there are.  Anything on the documents?"

"Yes, most of them were burnt beyond anything workable, but there were several manuals for weaponry and explosives, and several layout plans of sorts.  Also we searched Daryl Marks' room, we found semen stains and female hair on his bed.  The hair belongs to Charlotte May.  Other than that there was nothing interesting at the farm, no explosives, no weapons.  The body from the fire hasn't been identified yet, but Doc Robbins has finished his report,"

"Hold on a second, please," I went over to the receptionist, showed her my badge and asked her whether I could use the fax machine.  I gave Jacqui the number, asking her to fax me anything they had.  

"Sure, I'll do it right away.  Is everyone all right?" Oh, I had dreaded that part.  But now was not the time for sugar coating.

"The cultists have holed themselves in at the hospital.  They demand Daryl Marks be released.  They have taken Grissom and Sara hostage.  We think they are fine for the moment," I felt bad about lying the moment I said it.

There was a pause, and then Jacqui asked in a low voice.

"Greg's not okay, right?"

"No, he isn't.  He's dead.  I'm sorry,"

There was a pause.

"I'll keep you informed.  You'll know the second we get anything new,"

"Thanks," I hung up, suddenly feeling tired, which was no wonder considering that it was already almost noon.  The beginning of the shift seemed like years ago.  Suddenly there was nothing really to do, except go over the material that Jacqui was going to fax me.  To me, it just didn't feel like I was doing enough.  

"Are you Mr. Brown?" a voice behind me asked.  I turned around to see a nurse.  

"Yes, that's me.  What is it?"

"Ms. Willows is awake and she says she needs to talk to you.  She says it's urgent,"

tbc


	15. Jacqui

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers. Also, I'd like to tank everyone who has reviewed this story and provided constructive criticism.

Normally it isn't really all exciting at the lab.  I like that about my job.  Sure I sometimes envy Catherine for being out there, but most days I really prefer the quiet of the lab.  I'm not so obsessed with field work and frankly could never quite understand Greg's fascination with it.  It's stressful enough in here, even though few people realize that.  We are under constant pressure to produce the results as fast as possible, possibly the minute something is tossed in front of us.  Greg is, or better, was the master of fast results.  I have no idea how he did it that fast.  It was amazing.  I've lost quite a few bets to him over that.  It's a lot quieter at the lab now.  He could be really annoying with all his crazy antics, but still he was fun at the lab.  And he was good at what he did.  He didn't deserve being shot by some lunatic.  Well, nobody really deserves that.

When I heard the news from Warrick  I already knew what was up before he had said it.  The fact that he had not mentioned Greg had been enough.  Right afterwards, I didn't really feel anything. I wasn't even that shocked about it.  It just added to my motivation to find out as much as I possibly could.  The fall-out only came later, when I got off work.  Until then, I sent Warrick the stuff he wanted and then got back to the lab, working at the evidence from the "Heavenly Path" estate.


	16. Catherine

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers. Also, I'd like to tank everyone who has reviewed this story and provided constructive criticism.

I had been out for about six hours when I came to again in the hospital.  My first thought, as far as I can recall, was that I was alive -in pain but alive.  In fact I had gotten off fairly lightly.  Daryl Marks had hit me at the height of the first and second rib, which had broken as a result of the close range impact.  No organs or major arteries had been hit, thankfully.  Had that been the case, I would have bled to death.  While many aspects of our investigation didn't go well, and there were both mistakes and bad luck involved, I think it still could have been a lot worse, all in all.

I was drifting between sedation and waking.  Pain all over my lower ribs was telling me to stay out as long as possible, but my subconscious was nagging, telling me that I needed to be awake for something that could not wait.  At first I could not put my finger on it.  It was just a vague feeling.  But then, the memory came back crystal clear.  I sat up with a jolt.  The pain from the movement drove tears to my eyes and I was gasping for air.  Only the thought that I needed to tell someone about what Daryl Marks had told me kept me going.

Sometimes, this makes me feel that I am a lousy mother; my first thought was not of my daughter, but of my job.  It's not supposed to be like that.  But on the other hand, I know that it was the right thing to do and had I not done so things might have ended a lot worse.

Without the urgency of having to warn somebody, I would have just stayed in the pillows.  Once I could breathe a little bit more easily again, I pressed to(the) call button.  I half expected to have to put up with some resistant nurse, but I was pleasantly surprised, I don't think I could have argued, no matter the stakes.  The effort of moving at all took all I had.  A nervous nurse turned up soon after I had called.  She didn't ask me any questions when I told her to call CSI and tell them that I needed to talk to someone very urgently.  I didn't known that the hospital was informed about my involvement in the cases and that both Nick and I were under guard.  She assured me that she was going to do as I asked.  I was just about to drift off again, in spite of my best efforts to resist, when Warrick showed up.  He was looking like hell.  That was the first thing I thought when he came in.  Then it occurred to me that he could not possible be there already so soon after my call.  But I pushed aside the question and came to the matter at hand, skipping the small-talk.

"Marks said something about ...  a fire, burning the city, burning the sinners.  I think they are planning ..." I struggled for air.

"Take it easy Catherine.  Was he talking about today?" Warrick looked concerned, maybe even anxious, an expression I had never expected to see him wear.  I didn't know yet how the situation had developed.  I think it was better that I didn't know.  I needed all my strength without worrying about the case.  It's an egoist view, I know, but what good would me having known about the hostage situation have done at that point.  I also told that to Warrick, when he later apologized for not having told me straight away.  I didn't have a problem with that.

"Think so." It was hard to stay focused, both on the memory of what Marks had said and on the conversation.

"Did he mention any location?"

"No, sorry." I could hardly keep my eyes open.  I had never felt so tired before.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Warrick said softly.  "One more thing: did you notice anyone else besides Marks?"

I just shook my head.  I still had many questions such as who was looking after Lindsey, was Nick going to be alright, what had happened to Marks.  But that would have to wait.  My body's demands were overriding my mind and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	17. Sara

_All in a Day_

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers. Also, I'd like to tank everyone who has reviewed this story and provided constructive criticism.

I had no idea how long we had already been in the tiny office.  As it has no window, it was impossible to know whether it was still day or already night.

To me it was as if hours had passed since the phone call, which had ended with the girl knocking Grissom over with the butt of her gun.  But I wasn't sure whether I could trust my sense of time in the situation. The contact with the FBI had made them realize their serious situation, because right after the call, our captors had tied us to chairs, using what looked like cut bed sheets.  My wrists were bound behind the back of the chair, making it impossible for me to see my watch.  My shoulders were already aching in protest against the unnatural position.  We had been left alone in the office for now.  It was not like we were going to go anywhere.  Grissom had been silent, not having said another word since the call.  He had a visible bump on his temple, a result of having been hit with the gun, but physically he seemed fine.  I wondered what he was thinking about.  Thinking about anything to keep myself from thinking about what was going to happen to us.  

When the girl came in again, I was afraid that our captors had decided to kill us after all.  At the time being, I didn't see that it was in their best interests to keep us alive in order to keep the police from storming the building.  But I thought of none of that, it hadn't even occurred to me.  The situation at hand had drawn all my intention to it, my focus severely limited by fear.  Before, I was often puzzled why witnesses to violent crimes were unable to remember details or why they had not thought of doing the obvious things.    I had thought that in a situation where a person's life was at stake, the mind would kick into overdrive.  But now that I myself was in such a situation I'm aware of the incredible power that fear can have over a person.  Strange, that it took me an extreme situation to learn more about human behavior than years of normal life. 

After the abrupt ending of Grissom's call the girl stood there, staring at us, gun still in hand.  Was she enjoying our fear, enjoying the rush of power over our lives? Or was she entirely driven by blind faith in Daryl Marks and his teachings? I never found out for sure, I think it was a little bit of both involved.  How does someone come to be a killer?  I usually don't ask myself that question; it doesn't lead anywhere and frankly hadn't been of much interest for me.  I think the only person on the team even remotely interested in that question is Catherine.  The rest of us rather stick with the evidence.  But in this unique case, knowing the motives of a person was directly relevant to my own survival.  If there was any room for appeal, then we might stand a chance and get her to help us.  My impression was that this wasn't the case at all.  Used to scientific thinking I looked at her behavior earlier.  None of it had demonstrated weakness or remorse.  Her only weakness was her lack of experience with a firearm.  Grissom had probably been occupied with the same mental game.  But his conclusion was probably a different one.  He went for it, trying to get through to her:

"How old are you?" he asked.

She didn't flinch.

"Did you know Tina Rivers?"

"A traitor, she was weak, not a true chosen one.  We didn't need her."

"Why did her family have to die?  They didn't do anything?"

"Impure like the rest of you.  They didn't deserve to live."

"I understand.  What makes you one of the chosen ones?" Grissom was trying to play along, entering into her world of values.

"I'm strong.  I've proven that I'm worthy of salvation."

"How did you prove that?"

"By being willing to fulfill my role in the prophecy."

"Are we also a part of the prophecy?" He inclined his head in my direction.  I could see where he was going.  It was a dangerous road, too dangerous to walk down in my opinion. The girl wasn't as easy to turn around as Grissom was thinking.  I just hoped he wasn't going to get us killed with this.  And as far as I could see that was the only thing that could come out of this.

"No, not you."  That was all she said to his last question.  Her tone wasn't hostile; it was neutral bordering on the confused.  Her lips were moving fast, silently, as of she was praying.  

I got the impression that the situation wasn't turning out in our favor.

But before I could confirm my hypothesis, the other woman appeared in the door and waved for the girl to come with her.  It was not like we were going anywhere.

"What the hell was that for?" I asked even though I had a pretty good idea what Grissom was trying to do.

"I'm trying to get through to her.  Teenagers are the most open to influence.  She is most likely to listen.  You could see that she was confused when I showed interest in their beliefs."

"You're wrong, Grissom.  I agree that we have to try and do something.  There isn't going to be any peaceful solution.  But this is pointless. This girl has probably been raised by the cult, it's all she knows.  She'll never help us.  Maybe she is confused, but the only real chance we have is to try to get to that woman we heard in the waiting room.  Hell, Grissom the girl knocked you over at the slightest provocation.  How can you be sure next time she isn't going to kill you or both of us for that matter?  Do you want us ending up like Greg?"

Ouch, if I had thought for one second before talking, I wouldn't have said that, but my nerves were frayed.  Tact just wasn't in it anymore.  I just wanted to get out of this hospital alive.  Grissom was probably right, he could have gotten through to her eventually, but I was too afraid to see that.  Normally I'm not a passive person at all, but so much is different in an extreme situation.  

Grissom said nothing in response to what I had just said.  He just looked in the direction of Greg's body as if for the first time understanding that he was really dead.  This wasn't like Grissom at all, at least not like the Grissom I thought I knew.  I saw a lot of a person I hadn't encountered at work during the hours we spent as hostages.  It would change how I see him at work.  

I was considering whether I should apologize to Grissom, given that it might be my last chance to do so, then, noise from the corridor attracted my attention.  There was someone screaming, crying, people running.  The guy who had tied us up came in again.

"We're leaving," he said.  I hoped he meant that literally, and not in the sense of leaving this world.  He apparently had the first meaning in mind, as he untied me from the chair, but left my wrists bound together.  He did the same with Grissom.

"Where are we going?" the girl posed the question which I had not dared to ask.

"Where we must go, as it was foretold," he replied cryptically.

"We can't.  Not now that he's dead.  We are going to die." She was on the verge of tears.  He was clearly a reference to Daryl Marks, who had just died as a result of the injuries he'd sustained during the shooting.  As much as he deserved what he got, it was quite ill-timed for Grissom and me.  The cultists depended on Daryl Marks' leadership to carry out their plan.  At least that was the conclusion I arrived at based on what I'd seen.  But there was still one factor of the equation that I didn't know at the time.  None of us did.

"How can you say that?" the man snarled at her.  I wasn't sure what he should think about the mounting tension between the cultists.  It could be good for us because their attention was diverted.  On other hand, if their aggressiveness was fueled they were going to take it out on us.  The guy then showed us just how little it took to set him off.

The girl had now started crying, her body shaking slightly.  

"You are not worthy of him," the man said, and then to my complete shock, he just shot the girl at point blank range.  I had not seen that coming.  I just stared at her.  The scene seemed to happen in slow motion.  A dark red stain was spreading over her light-blue dress.  She opened her mouth, but didn't make any sound.  Her knees gave way and she slowly collapsed onto the floor.  Her blood started to pool in front of her.  I stared, as if hypnotized at the slow and steadily spreading pool of blood on the gray floor.  

From the viewpoint of probability, this day was absolutely out of the norm.  Seeing three people being shot to death in the space of less than twelve hours has absolutely no place on the normal distribution curve.  My state of shock wasn't as profound as before and I saw the guy who had just shot the girl pull out a cell phone.  He dialed then waited for someone to answer.  

This sudden change in our situation provided us with an unforeseen opportunity.  The guy was alone with the two of us.  Currently his attention was diverted.  He was busy waiting for someone to pick up.  The body was the girl lying on the floor.  She was either dead already or quickly bleeding to death.  The gun she'd had was lying next to her.  Her killer had apparently not noticed or been too occupied.  My mind registered the chance to get a weapon.  But it also presented me with a risk assessment.  My hands were tied behind my back, seriously impeding my use of them.  Firing a gun in an aimed manner would be near impossible.  If the guy noticed me going for the gun, he wouldn't hesitate to shoot me as well.  My foremost goal was getting out of there alive.  I glanced over to Grissom.  I couldn't tell whether he saw the opportunity too.  His face was impenetrable.  He looked tired and for the first time since I had known him, he looked old.

While my risk assessment included quite a number of factors, I overlooked the outside factors.  The sound of the shot having been fired, which they picked up by the hypersensitive microphones, had set the HRT agents into motion.

_tbc_


	18. Warrick

_All in a Day _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

_Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season._

_A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are to wonderful beta readers. Also thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed this story. It means a lot to me._

I left Catherine's room and headed back downstairs to the lobby.  The reports from Jacqui had arrived by then.  I picked them up, starting to read before I sat down.

My mind was racing.  I had all the puzzle pieces, now I just had to put them together.  I couldn't think here, my head was starting to hurt and I was exhausted.  I got myself a coffee in the hopes that it would wake me up a bit.

I took out the reconstructed picture of the layout plan.  There was no indication which building they were showing.  It looked too large to be a private building and too small for a large office, maybe a small office building.  But there were hundreds of possibilities.  The plan alone wasn't helping me any.

I mentally laid out the pieces:  TNT, layout plan, a fire cleansing the sinners.  Were they going to blow up a casino, a hotel, a brothel? But an explosion didn't really cause a significant fire, at least not under normal circumstances.  For that they would have to blow up something else, a gas station, or a chemical factory.  Maybe I was thinking too literally.  But a chemical factory didn't fit to well with the sinner part.  Hell, there was just so much we didn't know.  

Marks was the key, he was the architect of this diabolic plan.  He was the reason why they were doing this, so he would hold the key to motive.  The motive depended on whether he really believed the religious role he was playing or whether he just liked basking in the admiration and money of his followers.  Hopefully his computer would give me an answer to that question.  But at the moment neither Marks nor his computer were accessible.  Suddenly something struck me -the numbers.  I had just assumed that everyone was involved in the hostage situation.  But if I thought about it, that was not very likely.  

Jacqui had said that there were probably ten cultists in total.  That would be: Daryl Marks, Tina Rivers, the girl, the woman who had taken out the camera, the dead body at the compound and the three men.  It didn't add up.  There were two people missing.  Two people and the explosives, it just occurred to me.  At least one person had been there with Marks when Nick and Catherine had been shot.  I tried to get it all sorted out, but every time I constructed a theory, I immediately noticed a point where it did not work out.  Out of sheer desperation, I called the police station and asked them to run a background on the three names that Jacqui had given me.  Daryl Marks had already been run through the system by Brass, so I had no hopes of finding more regarding him.  Leaving the people in question for now, I turned my attention to the autopsy report.  The burnt body was a male in his early forties.  He had been dead before being burnt.  He had bleed to death, from several stab wounds to the lower torso.  A test for TNT residues on his hands had been inconclusive, a result of the burning.  So he had been one of the killers in the Delaney's apartment.  

I called the images from the hospital surveillance footage back to mind.  The woman on the video had been older than thirty-one.  She'd been in her late forties at the youngest.  Now, I had at least a name.  Finally some head way.  If I did a half-smile, it would be my first and last during this case.  I checked my pager nervously, nothing yet from the PD on my background check, nothing from the lab.  Maybe Nick would be able to tell me more.  There was a chance that he might also have seen something before having been shot.  I felt bad at the idea of badgering him, but it didn't come to it.  I used the stairs, which were being guarded as well since the elevators had been taken off-line by the police and made my way up to the fifth floor.  It was quiet.  The only thing I heard was the distinct beeping and humming of medical devices and the sound of steps on linoleum.  I headed for the duty nurse's desk.

"Hello, I'm Warrick Brown with CSI." I showed her my ID.  "Would it be possible for me to see Mr. Nick Stokes?

"I don't think that Mr. Stokes is up for visitors.  Do you want to speak to his doctor?"

"Yes, please," I said and waited.  Standing there and waiting it occurred to me that I had not really ever thought of Catherine and Nick being shot.  Hell, I didn't even know how Nick was.  I had been reacting ever since this case had started.  Nick is a friend, and I was supposed to care.  The thought made me feel guilty.  Even though this time it was in no way my fault, my mind flashed back to Holly Gribbs and the stalker case.  

A doctor came in my direction.

"Mr. Brown, I'm Doctor Nguyen, I'm treating Mr. Stokes."

"How is he?"

"Sedated at the moment, he was shot in the thigh.  Since an artery was hit, well, he suffered serious blood loss.  Hypovolaemic shock had set in by the time the paramedics got to him.

"What's the prognosis?" I didn't really want to know, but also needed to know.  I didn't think I could process another disaster that day.

"He's responding well to the standard treatment using plasma replacement and isn't in immediate danger.  But your questions will have to wait at least until tomorrow morning."

"Thank you." Only a little bit reassured, I thanked him and left, still worried.

I went back downstairs to see how the situation was progressing.  It wasn't.

In the briefing room, nothing had changed since I had left.  Agents were busy talking, reading from files and filled flip charts with cryptic terms.  Brass was leaning in a corner, looking extremely tense.  It's very unusual for him to display what he's feeling.  Normally it's all covered by cynicism.  We all have our protection mechanism in place.  I'm no exception.  Looking back at the situation, I think that I was just continuing working, both to convince myself that I was doing something and to keep myself from worrying about Grissom, Sara and Nick, or think about Greg.  At that time, I didn't worry or think  I was running on adrenaline.

"Brass," I whispered, and waved for him to come outside.  

"I got a name from the prints at the farm.  PD ran a check and I got a current address of a Charlotte May.  It's a long shot, but I think we should have a look at the place and chat with Ms. May if she's home.

"Good, but there's nothing new here.  They have been talking for like three hours now.  But I can tell you, it's not going anywhere." Brass's tone showed more worry about Grissom and Sara than he let on.  Even though I was pretty wound up myself, I figured that he might prefer to stick around.   Of course, if I asked him to go to there with me he would do it.  Before I could figure out a way to tell him that I was okay with it and without creating an embarrassing scene for the two of us, he said, "I'm going to request for an officer to be there.  Who knows what you're going to run into."

"Okay, I'm just going to get some stills from the footage."

We went back inside and I asked the agent who had operated the video system before to make me printouts of the cultists.  Armed with pictures I made my way to the car, not sure what I had to expect.  After all, I told myself, it could be that I was just chasing ghosts, but as it turned out I wasn't.  I was on the right track, just a little to late.

After a twenty minute drive, I didn't have the nerve to hunt for a parking space.  I parked right in front of the building.  It looked dingy.  In front of the entrance I saw a uniformed LVPD officer.  He looked barely over twenty.  He must be the backup Brass had ordered.

I grabbed my field kit, got out of the car and approached him purposefully, making sure he could see my badge.  The last thing I needed was a nervous young cop overreacting.

"Mr. Brown?"

"Yes that's me."

"I'm Officer Gerwin."

"Have you checked whether anyone is home?"

"No," he blushed, clearly insecure and fairly new at the job. "Detective Brass ordered me to wait for you.  But I got the key from the landlord.  He says that she never posed a problem, was quiet and paid the rent on time."

"Okay, let's go in then."

The apartment building strongly reminded me of the one where the Delaney's had lived and been murdered less than twenty-four hours ago. It seemed weeks ago to me.  

I keep behind Officer Gerwin, even though he seemed to have even less experience than I had.  I was just hoping that we would not run into any trouble.  The apartment was on the second floor, 208.

Officer Gerwin knocked on the door. " Las Vegas police, we have a search warrant." No answer, no noise from the inside, indicating that someone was preparing for us.  Gerwin repeated.

"It looks like nobody is home." he took out the key and unlocked the door.  I would have to lie if I said that I wasn't tense.  Officer Gerwin's trembling hands when he tried to place the key in the keyhole didn't add to my confidence.  His gun raised, he entered the apartment, and I followed in his tracks.  The apartment was as sparse as the farm.  The only things present in abundance were books.  Gerwin proceeded securing the adjacent rooms, while I stayed in what looked like a living room.  Gerwin came back, visibly relieved. "Nobody home."

"Good, I'm going to examine the place." I was about to get to work, when I noticed Gerwin standing around looking lost.  Great, just what I need, working with a clueless cop.

"Mhm, could you maybe go ask the neighbors about Charlotte May's comings and goings.  Also, please check on her vehicle." I felt odd giving the orders, out of place somehow.  I was used to working with more experienced investigators.

The living room was furnished with several shelves, a patio type desk and a chair.  On the desk were a laptop computer and a printer.

Just like Marks, it occurred to me.  The others had lived without any modern technology, even without electricity at the barn.  Marks had been the only one to use technology.  This woman had been at the barn regularly, judging by the presence of her prints, yet she had her own place and also used a computer.  I took a look at the books.  There must have been hundreds of them, remarkably no novels, but non-fiction on all subjects.   She was into virtually everything -mostly religions, paranormal and spiritual, and medical, also some general science books.

A phone, I looked around, searching for one.  Nothing.  

I went on to have a look at the next room, a bathroom, a kitchen, all very organized, nothing remarkable.  In the bedroom I found what I didn't expect.  It was the only room that had any personal touch.  There was a single bed, made and a child's crib, empty.  On the nightstand, two framed pictures sat.  One, showed her along with Daryl Marks in some sunny location.  The other picture showed a baby.  Her child? Her file had said nothing of her having a child.  But if she had given birth at the compound or at her home, then her child would not be registered.  There was also an opened book with the pages turned down.  Carefully I lifted it up.  It was a medical textbook looking fairly new.  It was opened at a page discussing hydranencephaly.

A bit confused about what to make of it, I went back into the living room.  It is against the procedure.  Normally a computer found at the scene, had to be brought back to the lab to be examined there.  I hesitated.  Was there really sufficient evidence to break protocol?  I opened the desk drawer.  It was in a contrast to the perfectly clean apartment.  It contained assorted wires, several alarm clocks, partially disassembled, screwdrivers, and pins along with several sheets of printed paper.  I took a look at them.  While before I had not been sure what position the woman occupied in this case.  I now knew that she was right at the center of it all.  She had obviously been busy surfing the net.  Printed on the pages were several texts taken from the Internet, they all dealt with handling and use of explosives -and not the kind of use in the building industry.  On these pages were detailed manuals on how to build bombs.  She hadn't been just any member of the Heavenly Path group, she had been right there with Daryl Marks.  It then occurred to me that I still had the portable UV detector in the car from earlier.  I got it and started working, examining the apartment.  The desk came back positive for TNT residue.

Now, I was certain that the situation warranted the immediate examination of the computer.  Hoping that it had not been sabotaged as Marks's had been, I powered up the computer.  It beeped and starting booting the operating system.  While Windows was loading, I pulled out my cell again, and called Ecklie, asking him to send someone from his team to help me with the scene.

Ecklie had heard about what had gone down at the hospital.  To his credit he spared me any comments, merely said he would send someone right away.

Windows finally had loaded.  I'm not a computer crack.  But I know enough to find my way around a computer.  I tried the email program, no luck, password required.  That was something for the police computer specialist.  I opened the web browser and took a look at the history.  It confirmed the story told by the print-outs.  Apart from that, medicine, esoteric, religion, similar to her taste in books.

I opened her files folder, finding several text documents.  I opened one chosen at random.  It was long.  I scrolled through it.  Reading it would take ages.  I didn't have time.  We needed a lot of people on this right now.  I made another call, requesting more officers.  That done, I went back to scanning through the text.  Sin, punishment, and fire were recurring themes.  Marks and his followers were obsessed with that.  The file was dated from three months ago.  I pulled up the most recent.  While the previous document had been written in fairly coherent English, this was barely intelligible.  I'm no writer, all the writing I do is for reports at work, but to me it read like she had lost it completely.  It reminded me of Nigel Crane's tapes, just that it was in written form this time.

The themes in this piece were the same, but also a few new concepts were there, "Child", "sign", "prophecy" and "new world order".  My head was spinning.  In spite of all the new information, I felt like we were still walking in one place, not getting anywhere.  I forced myself to focus on the text.  There was after all a chance that this text was going to hold the clue to their plans.  We needed a time and a date for the planned bombing.  Since there was no direct clue, the motive was all we were(remove) had to go on.  Even if they were dominated by their twisted belief, there had to be something behind it.  I just had to find it.  For years the cult had been quiet, something must have prompted her to turn to violence - the child, her child? I checked more texts; it was first mentioned three months ago.  About that time, there had been first complaints about noise from the cult's compound.

What had this woman been doing, building bombs for Daryl Marks and writing down her ramblings while watching her child? This case was a lesson in human trash.  It sounds harsh, but that's how I see it.  I usually try to have some understanding, but here I just can't.

While less than an hour earlier the silence of my pager had annoyed me, it was now going off twice in a row.  First it was Brass, then the lab.  No question who I'd call first.  I was just hoping that Brass was calling with good news.


	19. Gil

All in a Day 

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are to wonderful beta readers.

I didn't notice that gun in Sara's hands, I only learned about it later.  My attention was all in the phone conversation of our captor.  He was pacing nervously, waiting for the person on the other end to pick up.  

"It's Marvin." He listened

"He isn't coming." Another pause, longer this time.

"I do.  It will all happen as you foresaw -one way or another.  At sundown, the world will rise from the ashes and we will all be rewarded." He clicked the phone off.  I quickly looked away from him, fervently hoping that he wasn't going to shoot me.  But he wasn't.  He needed us to keep the police from shooting him.  He raised his gun again.

"Move, slowly." He directed us out in the corridor.  It was a grotesque and surreal at best scene -walking past Greg's body, through the waiting room, out into the corridor.  I felt like being outside myself.  I wasn't really afraid, it's hard to describe how it felt.  I knew that the FBI would never let them get away.  They had not demonstrated any willingness to negotiate as far as I could tell.  The FBI would have no choice but to use force.  The history of law enforcement has no shortage of hostage situations gone bad where the interventions designed to rescue the hostages ended in a bloodbath.  There were significant chances that Sara and I might suffer a similar fate.  I felt worse for Sara than I did for myself.  

In the corridor the rest of the cultists were waiting.  They looked distraught, but determined.  Determined to kill and determined to die.

"We're gonna keep them up front, so they won't shoot us." Marvin laid out their strategy.

I briefly marveled at his logic which didn't include the possibility of snipers or any of the other means at the HRTs disposal.  Amazing what one still thinks about in a situation like this.  

The corridor seemed a lot longer than it had when the three of us had walked it down in the other direction.  To me, it felt like the distant past.  The thought brought Greg's death hours earlier to mind, something that I had registered but not processed.  I keep thinking about the series of events that had to come together to create this outcome.  Does the fault lie with me as well, for asking him to work out in the field that day? Rationally, no it doesn't.  I could not know what was going to happen, so I'm innocent.  But it just doesn't feel that way to me.  

We were approaching the end of the corridor where we had a choice of taking either the stairs or the elevator.  Our captors went towards the elevator but Marvin, who had kept in the back, stopped them.

"Not the elevator, we'd be trapped there," Marvin commanded.  Now that Marks was apparently dead, he had taken charge of the remaining group.  The man who was holding me at gunpoint jabbed the barrel into my back, indicating for me to head towards the door leading to the stairs.  I slowly walked in that direction, scared of what was going to happen next.  My experience told me that the stair well was most probably filled with agents.  The cultists didn't stand much of a chance, but the problem was that in a messy bloodbath, Sara or I could easily be wounded or killed as well.

Again, it became clear that the cultists hadn't planned the hostage situation thoroughly, While the murder of Tina Rivers and the Delaney family had been premeditated, the cultists had most probably not intended to take hostages.  Or if they had they at least didn't expect Marks to die before they had a chance of leaving the hospital with him.  They were cornered and I was afraid that their irrational actions could cause a disastrous ending.

A narrow staircase is a huge disadvantage, limiting the view and making hiding or escape very difficult.  But one way or another, they knew that they could not stay, and they had run out of options.  Even if they hadn't decided to make their way out, the HRT had been on the verge of storming the building.  The fact that two hostages had already been killed, that the cultists were not entering in any negotiations and the fact that another shot, the one which had killed the girl, had been fired,  promoted their decision to intervene.   

The HRT must have picked up our approach to their stairwell, because in that moment they stormed the corridor.

Much of what I know about what happened next is from the case reports.  My own memory is sketchy, probably due to shock and the overflow of sensory inputs.  

What I remember is a sudden explosion of sound and light.  I hit the floor, but I don't know whether I was pushed down or ducked driven by survival instinct.  The floor was cold, as odd is it may seem I remember that clearly.  I also remember yelling, agents screaming commands to drop weapons.  There was gunfire.  I didn't think about anything that I can recall now, my only intention was not to get hit.  I did think of Sara, hoping that she wasn't hit.

The noise toned down, and the gunfire had come to a halt, but still I didn't dare move.  I remained frozen on the ground, until I noticed someone feeling my neck.  They were probably searching for a pulse, since I was on the floor, not moving.  

"I'm ok," I said and struggled to sit up, but hardly managed to do so.  Partly because my arms were still tied up, and partly because my muscles simply refused to do my mind's bidding.

The paramedic had to help me sit up and cut the sheets which had bound my wrists.  After the adrenaline rush of the past hours had faded I felt drained, tired and old.  I barely noticed the paramedic talking.  I take it that she was talking to me, but I couldn't quite get myself to pay attention.

I just sat on the floor, watching my surroundings.  My mind told me that it was over now, but my feelings couldn't catch up.  Too much had happened, too many things that would never be over for me.  Memories live on and that's not always a good thing.  The real event happens only once, but the memories can replay over and over again.  That's why they are often worse than the reality.

A thought hit me, where was Sara? I couldn't see her.  For a moment I almost panicked, which hasn't happened to me in more than a decade.  I can't even remember the last time.  It was probably in my teens.  I knew that she had been behind me before the HRT had stormed the corridor.  I turned around, much to the dismay of the paramedic who was trying to check whether I was all right.  

To my great relief, Sara looked all right.  She was being helped to her feet by a paramedic.  She looked shocked and disturbed, but given the circumstances, that was to be expected.  I probably didn't look any better.  I started noticing the pain in my shoulders and blood on my shirt.  I couldn't quite remember how that had gotten there.

"Are you in any pain, sir?" the paramedic asked me, I assume not for the first time.

"My head and my arms," I answered truthfully.

Amidst the mass of medical and law enforcement personnel populating the scene, I now spotted a familiar face.  Brass was headed in my direction and he didn't look too happy.


	20. Brass

_All in a Day _

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

_Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season._

_A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are to wonderful beta readers. Also thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed this story. It means a lot to me._

I'm not good at waiting.  Years of working as a detective have taught me patience, but still I'm not very good at waiting.  It's worse when you don't even know what you're waiting for, whether you are waiting for something terrible or whether you're  waiting for relief.  

After hours of nothing happening, things had suddenly started to speed up.  When the microphones had picked up another gunshot on the eighth floor, the decision was made to intervene, since, as Agent Richter told me, further dragging out the situation wasn't going to improve the hostages' chances of survival.  

The scene had been officially secured now.  The body count was high, too high.  One dead agent, one injured.  Not a good day for the FBI, not at all.  Only two of the cultists had survived, four plus Daryl Marks were dead.  Marks was found dead in his room, apparently as a result of his injuries.  The FBI hauled off the survivors for questioning.  The corridor looked like a battlefield.  Blood, shells everywhere, bullet holes in the wall, the bodies were being removed.  Amidst the scene, Gil Grissom was sitting on the floor, just watching what was going on, and wearing a blank expression.  A paramedic was examining a wound on his upper arm.  He didn't seem to be aware of her.

"Glad to see you again," I said, feeling decidedly uncomfortable in the situation.  I'm not a man of many words.

"Yes," he simply said.

It bothered me a lot, to see Gil Grissom, who was one of the most distanced and cool professionals I know, so shell-shocked.  I've never seen him like this before and never again afterwards.  He's become even more removed from the emotional part of our work then before this case.  

In spite of obviously suffering from a mild shock, he still asked me about the case:

"You cracked the case?"

"No, but we're working on it, Warrick's at a suspects' house right now.   I'm gonna call him and ask what he found." I paused, not sure whether what I was about to ask was a good idea.  Normally, I'm so much into sensitivities, but I could understand Grissom's situation, as I myself felt not really able to deal with the day's events.  I went on.

"Gil, I hate to bother you with this right now, but was there anything indicating that they were planning something? Maybe something they said, or did?"

"Yes, this man, Marvin is his name; he was on the phone with someone.  He was talking about a new world starting at sundown tonight." 

"Good, at least we know when.  I'm going to meet up with Warrick at the lab." Grissom was about to get to his feet, much to my dismay and to that of the paramedic.

"You stay here and have that wound taken care of."

He just nodded and gave in; probably realizing that he wasn't up to any more work right now.  Unfortunately, Sara had a different take on that issue.

I was just about to head out into the parking lot, when a voice called me from behind.  It was Sara:

"Hey Brass, wait a second." She walked up to me.

"What are you doing here, aren't you supposed to...?"

She interrupted me mid-sentence.

"I'm fine." Her tone was firm.  She certainly didn't look fine.  She had blood all over her wrinkled clothes.  Neither she nor Grissom were seriously injured, I assumed that it was Greg's.

"Sara, you really are in no shape to be running around now.  You should be on leave; you were involved in a crisis situation, which is still under investigation.  Warrick and I are on the case.  We can handle it."

I wasn't sure about the last part, but in her present condition Sara was at risk of making mistakes that could seriously compromise the investigation.

"It's a jurisdictional mess out there." She was probably referring to the reason why she wasn't on leave right now.  

"I have to give my official statement tomorrow morning.  But now, I need to work on this case.  I have to do something.  I can't just sit around and do nothing.  I can't." Her tone was urgent, bordering on the desperate

Against my better judgment, I agreed to take her back with me to CSI, partly because she wasn't here with her car.  But no way was she going to be out in the field again.  If it hadn't it been for the time sensitivity, I would have dropped her off at her place.  Of course, this didn't go as I'd had in mind.

I had trouble concentrating on the drive to CSI, I was simply tired.  Now that the tension wasn't that great anymore, I started to feel worn out.  After all, I had been on my feet for about thirty hours.   If I think about it, I should have been more concerned by then, knowing that possibly hundreds of lives were in danger from the explosion planned by the cultists.  But those were not people I knew and worked with.  It wasn't as close to home, maybe that's why I didn't feel as tense then.  Or maybe it was just exhaustion catching up with me.  Sara didn't seem too tired, which struck me as odd, because after what she had been through already, she should be extremely tired.  I didn't see it, why Sara was so driven.  Normally I would have, I can tell when people are not telling the whole story.  I could probably blame it on the really long and stressful day that I didn't pick it up with Sara.

At CSI the atmosphere was a strange mixture of gloominess and frantic work.  Everyone was shocked by the day's events, two injured and one dead co-worker, and everyone knew by now what was at stake if we didn't solve the case.

Warrick was already there after his trip to Charlotte May's apartment.  He'd had the computer brought in as well.  The technician, who had worked on Marks' computer as well, explained the procedure to us.

"Doing a manual search takes far too long, since we are talking about several hundred Mbs of documents, that's tens of thousands of pages.  The text files are ordinary word processor documents, not encrypted.  That allows us to search the content for key words.  If you understood Mr. Brown right, we are looking for a location.  I've configured a search to filter out all words not part of the Standard English dictionary.  That way we'll be able to find all proper names, such as names of streets, companies, and etcetera.  I'm also running a search to filter out all sentences that contain specific key words.  Your pick."

"Ok, let's see.  It's pretty cryptic from what I've read, but try: fire, explosion, TNT, disease, sickness, sin, new world and sundown," Warrick said.

The tech scribbled it down.  "Okay, I'll get started right away.  While the search is running, let's have a look at the computer you brought in this morning.  Most of the files were destroyed by a virus that was installed on the system.  Whoever did this had at least some experience with computers.  I could salvage two video files, but only partially, I'll send them over to the A/V lab.  Other than that there was a database, numbers, in and out.  They could relate to payments."

The database appeared on screen.  "Wow, that's a mess," I said, confronted with the jungle of numbers.  "It would take me days if not weeks to figure that out.  But that's not my job."  

"I think that's mostly your area of expertise, Sara," Warrick said, with a slight hesitation.  Like I, he probably doubted whether Sara should be back on the case.

"Fine, I'll do it." Sara sat down and got to work.

Warrick and I went over to the A/V lab, where Archie was busy with the video files.  "Hi.  It's not much, but this is what I pulled from the first tape."  

On screen was a blurry image of a group sitting in a half circle around Marks.  It looked like it was shot from above.  

"You find any cameras at the farm?" I asked.

"No, but you can put these up in seconds.  It's really no big deal, everyone can do it.  But we didn't find a camera among Marks' belongings either."

The group on screen was involved in some form of chanting, but no intelligible words.  This went on for a good five minutes.  Personally, religion isn't my cup of tea and never really was, not even before I became a cop.  I've always taken the world for what it is.   The whole concept of clamoring to some idolized entity is very dubious to me.  I couldn't really understand how Marks and his likes, of which there are hundreds, manage to put people under their spell so completely, so that they will do everything on command.

Suddenly, one person, a woman got up from the circle, walking up to Daryl Marks.  She had her hand raised above her head, eyes upward.  The picture flickered.

"This is where the file has been damaged," Archie explained.  "There is another segment from the same file."  He brought that up.  "I've enhanced the audio."

The woman was still standing, she was talking.  "...  has come to me and has let my eyes see what will unfold in front of all our eyes soon.  The sun will set announcing the end for those you do not believe and do not honor the holy rules.  The fire will consume them all." her voice was oddly monotonous, almost mechanical.  "The path is clear for all life.  Once the sinners have perished the new world will be able to rise from the ashes.  Those of right faith will be rewarded for their suffering and will rise to their just place in the new godly kingdom.  For that it is our task to bring about the end and the beginning.  We are chosen and vested with divine power to carry out these tasks.  We will know when the time has come for us to act and leave our silent refuge.  The tools will be provided and we must not fear for all we need will be taken care of in due time.  After..." That was the end of the recording.  While it didn't reveal any new factual information as we had hoped, it made me fully realize that the cultists' motives were different than those of most other killers.  They were acting out a prophecy that they believed to be real.

"Can you get a close-up of the speaker's face?" Warrick asked.

"Sure." Archie did as asked.  Warrick pulled out a piece of paper with the copy of an ID card.  He held it to the screen to compare.

"That's Charlotte May, one of the two missing cultists.  With the pictures from the FBI we should be able to figure out who else is still out there.  Wait, there are nine people in the video here, there are ten altogether, so there is one person not in the picture.  I'll be right back." he hurried off.  Warrick reminded me of Grissom in his ways of thinking.  I couldn't help but feel slow.   Before I figured out what Warrick had noticed he was back.  

"I asked Ecklie who was working the scene with me.  I remember the same thing.  There are only eight beds in total on the compound.  We saw two rooms with two beds, one room with three beds, all with no frills for the cultists.  Daryl Marks lair had only one bed for him.  Charlotte May lived off the compound and so must have someone else."

"And the people living outside the compound probably took care of the practicalities."

"Yeah, and Charlotte May got to be the oracle as well.  Mark's must have approved that."

Sara came in.  "Anything?" she asked.

"Not much, we know that we know even less than we thought we did."

"Well, I know something.  The database is probably a record of money transfers.  I cross checked it with Charlotte May's account.  It's a match.  She was getting the group the money they needed to buy their equipment.  But we don't have the name of the original donor of the money yet.  It came from a European account, from Ireland.  It's registered to a financial service company." Sara lacked her usual enthusiasm.  No wonder.

That was the end of the lucky streak for the next half-hour.  The video didn't yield any more useful info.  We were once again stuck.  To me the whole case felt like we were treading water waiting for the waves to roll over us.  No matter how hard we tried, we had never been able to keep up with the cultists.  They had surprised Vega, Nick and Catherine.  They had been at the hospital.  So what was up next? I didn't even want to know.

Not having much to do but wait once again for tests to finish, Sara, Warrick and I returned to the break room, trying to brainstorm things together.  It seemed just impossible to me.  After I had called to see if the surviving cultists had said anything, which of course they had not, I grabbed another coffee to stay awake.  It didn't taste like something anyone should drink. 

"Ecklie loaned us half of his shift, they are at the apartment right now, examining every millimeter.  But we are running out of time.  Sundown will be at 5:50 p.m. today. Now it's 4:15 p.m., which gives us just one hour and thirty-five minutes to find the bomb.  We need more manpower on this.  It'll take us days to read through all the texts on the computers.  The search engine does help but it isn't perfect.  We still need to do a manual read through of as many files as we can.  I had a fax copy of the layout plans we found and sent them to the building administration of the city.  They didn't want to look into that at first, but we got a court order on it now.  Still, they aren't fully computerized, it could take weeks." Warrick summed up just a few of the shortcomings in our investigation.

"We have to look into every lead we got.  I've already called the sheriff once today about assigning more people, maybe a class of cadets or anyone else he can spare -so far nothing.  We also need to pull all available info on Charlotte May.  She has to show up somewhere else aside from her bank records, she must have been employed, paid taxes, done something."

"We also need to find out more about her child.  Based on her reading and on all the web pages she'd looked at, it appears like she was researching hydranencephaly.  I asked Doc Robbins before what he could tell me about hydranencephaly.  Basically, it's a birth defect where the brain doesn't fully develop.  Just the brain stem and the cerebellum form.  There is no treatment.   It's usually fatal within the first year of life.  A baby with this condition may appear normal at birth, having reflexes and all.  It's diagnosed using an MRI and CT scan.  So, if her child has this condition and she knew, she must have been at a hospital or a doctor to find out.  The disorder is rare.  There's a chance that a doctor here in Vegas remembers the case."

"Maybe her motive has something to do with the illness of her child; you said that the violent turn in the cult started around the time her child was born.  Did Doc Robbins say anything about the cause of it?" I speculated.

"It's not a hundred percent known yet.  There can be a variety of factors, prenatal trauma, or abnormal development."

"So, it's not known.  No hint there.  That doesn't mean that she didn't find someone to blame.  But that's just speculation."

"We know who the father of the child is?" Sara, who had been listening silently till now, entered the conversation.

"The tech is working on it," Warrick answered, his tone dark.  For a moment nobody said anything.  We were all thinking of Greg, who just this morning had still been working at this lab in the morning.  This would have been his job.

Right then the computer technician knocked at the doorframe.  "I've got the results of your document search." He handed Warrick several printed pages.  I went over to have a look.

The first search, filtering out proper names, had yielded several first names including Charlotte, Tina and Marvin.  Names of the cult members, they hadn't used last names as it appeared.  There were more names: all of the Delaney family was there -evidence of a planned murder.  Another name, not familiar: Dr. Kelly Frank.  A Kevin Stein.  The name Daryl Marks was no-where to be seen.  

"I'm calling the PD for a check on those two." I pulled out the phone and left Warrick to examine the rest of the list.

Kelly Frank was a pediatrician from Las Vegas.  In her office, nobody picked up, same as in her home.  I dispatched a patrol car there to check up on her.  Kevin Stein was the owner of a pharmaceutical manufacturing company located just outside Vegas.  I called him and he admitted that Charlotte May had been one of his employees until her maternity leave.  

Since Mr. Stein's address, both private and company, appeared as results of the address search which we had done, Warrick and I decided to pay him a visit.  What did we have to lose?


	21. Sara

All in a Day 

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are to wonderful beta readers. Thanks to all those who've read and reviewed.

That little voice inside my head told me not to, it told me to just go home, grab a shower and a bite to eat and wait for sleep and nightmares to come.  But even though I knew that this was the right thing to do, I couldn't.  I had to stick with the case till the end and do whatever I could to turn it around and stop the cultists.  I needed to do this, not as much for the people whose lives were at stake but rather I needed to do this for myself.  When we were held hostage in the hospital, I had the chance to do something, but I missed it.  I could rationalize my way out of there, telling myself that I couldn't do anything and that it isn't my fault.  But I managed to grab the gun the girl had dropped and I didn't use it.  I don't understand this.  I don't know why, sure my hands were tied, but if I had thought harder, I might have found a way.  But I was so afraid to die that I just waited passively for the HRT to storm the building.  I survived, Grissom survived.  And Greg's death was totally unforeseeable, I know that and I keep telling myself that.  I still feel bad that I didn't do something, anything at all.  That feeling drove me to insist on working the case.  Of course, Warrick didn't agree when I told him that I was coming with him and Brass to Kevin Stein.  Brass had already gone ahead to meet up with Ecklie and one of the dayshift CSIs, when Warrick stopped me.  He pulled me to the side.

"Sara, just listen to me for a second.  You shouldn't be here and you know it." 

"You don't understand, just let me come, I can do my job."

"I'm not saying that you can't.  But it has been a long day and we can't afford any mistakes.  So just stay here.  We still need someone to do the work here." Warrick was trying to reason this out with me, but I was far too wired to reason.  This day had been so far beyond normal or expected that I didn't feel capable to reason this out anymore.

"Sara, we don't have time to argue here." I tried to keep calm but I could feel anger building up inside.  I knew that I was on the verge of yelling at him.

"Exactly, I'm coming with you and that's it, I have to see this through till the end." I almost yelled.  People were starting to look at us.  In that moment I couldn't have cared less about who was seeing me.

"Then, I'm ordering you to stay here.  Sorry."  Warrick looked uncomfortable.  It probably wasn't easy for him to pull the authority card on me.  But, even in my agitated state I knew, that with the two of us being the only nightshift CSIs on duty at the moment, Warrick was in charge.

"I got it," I just said, suddenly having to bite back tears.  I was just so worked up; all my emotions were starting to get mixed up.

"Don't do anything stupid, Sara." 

Warrick left me standing in the corridor.  Now, thinking back to that moment, I see how hard the situation must have been on him as well.  Of course he had been right, in my totally confused and exhausted state.  I should have been at home.  But I needed to work this case, and I don't regret sticking with it.  I don't know how long I stood in the corridor after Warrick had left.  I was busy trying to pull myself back together.

Normally,  I'm not that kind of person.  I usually look down on women who cry at the slightest provocation.  I haven't shed tears in public since my preteens.  But I was confused, angry and stuck in a morass of emotions that I didn't want and couldn't afford.  Hoping that not too many people had witnessed my exchange with Warrick, I made my way back to the break room.  On the way, I dropped by the lab to see if the tests were making any headway.  The DNA test of the child had come back.  The saliva found on the pillow in the crib had yielded DNA which had been cross-referenced.  Charlotte May was the mother as I had expected, Daryl Marks was the father.  Charlotte May was a very special member of the cult, it seemed.  Not knowing exactly what I should make of the information, I slipped back into the break room.  I went back to our files, there had to be something more, something in the files, or some form of evidence that we had missed.  Warrick and Brass were holding on to the only straw that we were having, Kevin Stein didn't necessarily have anything to do with the cult.  He certainly didn't fit the profile.  He was married with two kids and was the CEO of a large pharmaceutical manufacturing company called Aimtec.

Kevin Stein, the name had a familiar ring to it.  I couldn't link a face to it, however.  So I had most likely read the name somewhere, but where? I read a lot of newspapers, books, and journals.  No way of remembering where I had read the name.  I decided to look him up on the computer, internet, public records, newspapers, and police files.

She found his name in several newspaper articles, all but two not very interesting.  

One was a brief note from 2001.  It stated that the investigation against Kevin Stein, CEO of Aimtec, concerning allegations of bribery had been discontinued.  No evidence had been found to consolidate the charges.  In 1999, a scientist working for the FDA had claimed that Kevin Stein had been paying bribes to speed up the testing of his company's drugs.  The second article was about an activist group called LVARC, Las Vegas Alliance of Responsible Citizens.  The profile of the group included a list of their latest projects.  They had been campaigning to get the investigation against Aimtec reopened.  Kevin Stein had declined to comment on the project.  There was a picture of several group members.  Most of the women in Charlotte's age range.  I have no idea why I thought to pursue this avenue, maybe because I had no other leads.

It was a long shot, but worth it.  I dialed the number listed in the contact information.  On the second ring, a man picked up.  I explained who I was and why I was calling.

"The woman I'm looking for is called Charlotte May, could you maybe check your member database and your mailing lists."

"Sure, we have it on computer, should only take a minute." He was right, within half a minute he got back to me, "Yes, there she is.  She signed up for our mailing list in October 2000, but didn't join as a full member until five months ago.  I personally never met her, but if you want, I can get someone who has on the phone." He was eager to help, a rare occurrence amongst the people I usually deal with.

"That would be great." I waited.

About a minute later, a woman answered, "Hello, I'm Tracy Harris.  Dane told me that you wanted to know something about Charlotte May."

"That's right.  What was Charlotte May doing in your group?"

"Well, she signed up as a member and paid her membership fee.  In the beginning she went regularly to the meetings we hold twice a week and also participated in I think two public campaigns.  After that pretty much nothing, I haven't seen her in over a month."

"You've met her personally?  What impression did you get?"

"She was strange, that was my initial impression.  I mean most people that dedicate their time to our groups are not your average passive couch potato, but she was different.  She almost never said something and when she did, she was often motioning this weird esoteric crap, she was into.  She kept to herself pretty much, didn't talk about herself at all.  She was never satisfied with what we were doing, said it didn't lead to anything.  Then she just stopped showing up.  That happens on occasion.  Ah, something I just recalled, she was pregnant by the time she joined, she came by a couple of times after she had the child.  She had gotten stranger, at least that was my impression, but I must admit I didn't like her much.  Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, thank you.  I have another request.  Would it be possible for you to send me a fax copy of your material about Aimtec? I understand that you have been active concerning the allegations of bribery and malpractice."

"In my mind it's more than allegations, but I'll take your number and fax it to you."

Two minutes later, I had another pile of paper to wade through.  Somehow, I had trouble fitting it all together.  The cultists were religious extremists, they hated the outside world because they believed them to be sinners and impure according to some twisted pseudo-religious belief system.  But Charlotte May's interest, while also into religion and esotericism, also had more political dimension.  From what had been gathered at the "Heavenly Path" estate nothing had indicated any political motivation.  They outside world had been shunned, all contact avoided.  There had been no TV, no newspapers or anything.  I decided the motive could wait in light of a ticking bomb somewhere out there.  I started skimming through the paperwork.  As the newspaper article had already indicated, there had been allegations that Kevin Stein had bribed scientists who were carrying out drug trials in order to speed up the process of getting them on the market.  There had even been an investigation, but no proof had ever been found.  Now the activists were pressing for a reopening of the investigation.  Inside my head everything was spinning around: unsafe drugs – bribes – potential health effects – someone to blame – closed cases.

Charlotte May was looking for someone to blame for the illness of her child.  Could she be blaming her employer? Well there was no proof for that.  But if so, then he or his company might be a target.  All just speculation and the cultist angle didn't really fit into that as well.  It wasn't enough to call Brass or Warrick.  .

Then, I had an idea how to prove my theory.  I recalled Warrick having mentioned the layout plans that he had handed to the building administration for checking.  It would take ages to search for a match, but if they only had to compare it to the properties of one company, it should go a lot faster.  I made a call to the building administration and fifteen minutes later I knew it.  The layout plan we had found on the "Heavenly Path" property matched a building of Aimtec's company, a storage building outside the city.

I checked my watch: another forty-five minutes left until sundown.  I had to hurry.


	22. Warrick

All in a Day 

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers. Thanks to all those who've read and reviewed.

My fight with Sara, if you can call it that, left me distracted.  I had trouble focusing back on the case, only the time pressure we were under helped me to summon up my concentration.  I couldn't help but question whether I had made the right call.  It had been hard for me to pull the authority card on Sara, but I felt like it was my only choice.  It's not like I doubted Sara's professional abilities, but considering what she had been through that day, I was right to assume that she needed some serious downtime.  Even I who had been on the emotional sidelines, so to speak, needed a while to fully understand that day.  I can't imagine how it must have been for Sara and the others who got more personally involved than I did.  Where the investigation was concerned, we were pretty much fishing around.  I had grabbed a copy from our files, so that I could read some more on the drive to Mr. Stein's house, where according to his secretary he was right now.  

The print-out highlighted the text in which Kevin Stein's name had appeared in Charlotte May's files.  It wasn't too clear.  He appeared several times in what seemed like a diary entry of her employer, but later on there were descriptions of more personal encounters at her apartment.  Had they been lovers? The next item with his name in it was also interesting.  It was an entire paragraph about him, her child and money.  Apparently from what I could gather from her confused style of writing, she had demanded money for the child from him.  Money for the child, I thought, maybe also money for not telling the wife about it. 

The house was in one of Vegas' better neighborhoods.  The rule: the greener the richer, definitely applied there.  Driving through the streets, one would never get the impression that we were living in a desert city.

We rang the door.  A woman in her late twenties, at the oldest, opened the door, after showing our badges.  Brass came right to business.

"Are you Mrs. Stein?"

"No, I'm a friend of the family." The woman turned and called into the house.  "Stephanie, the police are here.  They want to talk to you."

Stephanie Stein, a woman in her late thirties appeared at the front door.  "Can you keep an eye on the kid please?" She asked her friend who went back inside.

"I'm detective Jim Brass, these are CSIs Brown, Ecklie and Harrington.  We need to talk to your husband."

"Kevin isn't here.  At this time he's usually at the firm."

"He has already left there.  Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"No, I haven't." She shrugged.  "In fact, I called his mobile earlier because I wanted to ask him to pick up our son from a friend's on his way home.  When he didn't pick up, I figured he was still in a conference at work.  Why are you asking? Is there something wrong?" Her voice didn't match what she was saying.  She didn't seem overly concerned with her husband's fate.

"To be honest, we don't know that yet for sure.  May we come in?"

"Sure." Mrs. Stein let us in.

Mrs. Stein wasn't as worried as I would have expected.  In fact I got the impression that she had at least some idea of what was going on or didn't care at all about what happened.  I wasn't sure yet which of the two was the case.  

"We'd like to have a look at your husband's study.  We have a warrant," Ecklie announced.

"It's down the hall." If Mrs. Stein was hiding something, she wasn't concerned with us finding it.

Ecklie and Harrington, the dayshift CSI disappeared off to the study.  Brass and I sat down in the living room.  

"Do you know a woman named Charlotte May?"

"Charlotte, Charlotte May, I never got her last name.  Never know them.  You see my husband has had many lady friends over the years.  I don't even want to know about them.  I met this Charlotte woman at a company party.  I'm surprised he got involved with her, she didn't seem his type."  That was different for a change.  If only every cheated-on spouse would care so little, there'd be a lot less homicides in Vegas.

"Did your husband know that you knew he was having an affair?" 

"Christ no, he's trying to hide it, making up stories about overtime and conferences.  I stopped buying those years ago." She lit herself a cigarette.  Normally excessive smoking indicates that a suspect is nervous, but her demeanor didn't convey that impression.  She seemed more or less detached.

"Did you see Charlotte May again after the company party?"

"No, I never saw her again, but my husband was on the phone with her twice in the last couple of weeks.  I was surprised, you see, before, he never dared calling his mistresses from home.  From what I've heard it wasn't going too well between them.  I guess he's dumped her by now."

"How did you know he was on the phone with her?" I wasn't quite following there.

"He was agitated, yelling -hard not to notice him.  They were arguing, he called her by name."

"Another question: has your husband ever mentioned the name Daryl Marks?"

"Mhm...  I'm not sure, but I think the last time he called this Charlotte woman, he mentioned the name Marks, but that could have been someone else."

"When was this phone call?"

"I don't know, maybe a week ago."

"Did you notice anything unusual about your husband lately?"

"He was home even less than usual, he was very nervous last night.  Insisted on the news being left on all evening, he tried calling someone at least twenty times, but they didn't pick up." She sounded like that didn't bother her at all.  I still wasn't quite certain what to make of her.  Maybe she really did have nothing to hide, or she could have found out about the affair, have killed her husband and now be playing innocent.  But the mental calculation didn't fit.  Her husband had still been alive an hour ago.  Killing someone and getting rid of the evidence would be tough to pull off in such a short time, but hell, I've seen it done before.

"Do you remember which new item he was particularly interested in?" I already guessed the answer.

"The one big thing was this nasty family killing last night." It didn't seem to have interested her very much.

"When he left this morning, did he say anything?"

"I don't know.  I get up after he leaves." She lit another cigarette.

"One last question, do you have a joint account with your husband?"

"No, what he does with his money is his business.  I've got my own money."

After the interview, which to me felt like a serious waste of precious time, Brass and I joined Ecklie and Harrington in the study.

"What you find so far?" Brass asked

"Didn't find anything -no packing up, clothes still there, no signs of struggle -we even sifted through his waste paper basket.  Found zilch." I wondered what the hell the two had been doing all this time, but getting into an argument with Ecklie wasn't a good idea.  Then, I spotted the phone standing on a small desk.

"Did anyone check which number he dialed last?" I asked.  

"No, not yet." Harrington said his first words.

I bit back another comment about the abilities of certain CSIs and hit redial.  It said "Not available", probably a cell phone -another dead end.  We weren't going to find the explosives in time.  For the first time, it actually occurred to me that the possibility of failure on this case was quite real and frankly the way it looked, that moment also rather probable.

I was frustrated, tired and hungry.  The whole trip to the Stein's house seemed nothing but a waste of time at the moment.  Later on it would help us piece together what had happened, but for our immediate problem, it was of no help.  The only reason we had driven out there had been the lack of any other clues.  Decisions made on the basis of desperation are seldom good moves, as far as my experience goes.  While I was still looking around the study, trying to find something we had missed, my cell went off, probably the hundredth time since the shift had started.  I had already gotten a lot of bad news over the phone that day.  This time it was the first really good news.  

It was Sara calling.  She had figured out where the cultists had planted their bomb.   Brass immediately called the PD station to get as many men dispatched to the storage plant as possible.  But with the hostage situation and everything else, the PD was already extremely busy.  Sheriff Mobley said he'd send someone as soon as possible.  Unfortunately there were only forty minutes left until sundown and Brass and I would need at least half an hour to get there.  And that was if traffic was on our side.  Then I thought I was already stressed out, but it was in fact when things started to accelerate.  


	23. Sara

All in a Day 

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. To J for being such a patient and proficient beta reader.

The drive seemed to take ages.  I had never been that nervous.  Every red light appeared to take hours to switch to green.  The normally rapidly pulsing traffic was crawling.  I checked my watch every couple of minutes, each time both surprised at how little time had passed since the last time I had checked it and frightened at how unstoppably the time was passing.  There is no stopping time, no matter what we do it inexorably passes.  In every day life we don't notice, but in a situation when we are waiting for something to happen and at the same time hoping it won't we become painfully aware of how cruel time really is.

Finally, I was nearing the storage plant.   A large parking lot in the front of it, a high brick wall topped with barbed wire and a porter's lodge.  The main building was one story only, flat metal roof, not exactly top level security from the looks of it.  According to the building records the storage plant had been built in 1959.  Aimtec had bought it five years ago.

Luckily it was located in a non-residential area, so the immediate blast effects wouldn't be that disastrous.  I had no idea which chemicals exactly were being stored there.  Figuring that out would have only taken two or three more minutes and would have gotten us a lot further, but back at the lab, I hadn't thought that far.  I was mentally cursing myself for that mistake, as I took the turn to the plant's parking space.  I was just about to park when I drive by another parked vehicle.  Something captured my attention.  There was somebody in the car.  

Procedure stipulates to wait for a police officer, but there was no time.  I reached for my gun, planning to check out the vehicle, but I was reaching for nothing.  My gun wasn't there.  For a moment I was confused.  Amazing how I had pushed the events at the hospital from memory.  My gun had been taken then.  It was probably in an evidence bag somewhere.  I could wait for the police or Warrick to arrive, or I could at least take a look.  I carefully drove back again, to catch another look without having to leave the car.  I might have been on an adrenaline high, but my brain was still working enough to tell me that going out there unarmed, confronting a potential killer was a very bad idea.  

If there was anyone in that car, they would have noticed me by now.   Whoever was in there was dead.  A man, head slumped back, dark stains on the shirt.  No sign of the killer.  I parked the car and got out.  Carefully I looked around, and then approached the car.  It was dangerous and under different circumstances I would probably not have done it, but waited for the police.  I got lucky, the killer was already gone.  I didn't have time to take a closer look before the sound of rotor blades tearing through the air startled me.  I didn't recognize the sound before I looked up.  It was the ATF helicopter.  Having a larger budget allowed them to travel a lot faster.  At the same time, the sirens of the police cars rushing towards the plant mixed themselves with the noise of the helicopter preparing to set down.

Then everything started to happen at once.  The personnel were being evacuated from the building, while an ATF search team went inside along with trained sniff dogs.  An agent standing in the inner yard was coordinating the efforts.  By then, Brass and Warrick had gotten there as well.  Warrick gave me the quick run-down of his visit to the house.  Kevin Stein was missing and he'd had dealings with Charlotte May.  She must have invited him to the compound at some point; maybe she was trying to recruit him.  That would make the tenth set of prints at the compound those of Kevin Stein.

Warrick and I were standing in the yard, while the ATF agents were searching the building.  I felt helpless.  I knew it was their job to find and disarm the bomb.  I can only imagine how it must have been for Warrick and Brass while Grissom and I were prisoners in that hospital.  They too could only stand on the sidelines and watch.  Brass had gone over to the evacuated personnel and started the questioning along with other police officers.  The last thing we heard was that they weren't having much luck either.  I had called the coroner concerning the body we had found in the car, but it was going to take a while as our case had left its share of bodies in its wake.

I felt bad for not being able to do anything.  The chances were grim, we knew that.  The storage plant was large, even a small amount of TNT would already have the potential to trigger a cascade reaction. 

I nervously glanced at my watch.  Nine minutes to go.  The look on Warrick's face told me that he too was racking his brain, trying to think of some small detail that we had missed and which hopefully would give us some clue where the bomb was located.

"Sara, how would you make sure that your bomb goes off exactly at sundown?" Warrick interrupted my thoughts.

"I don't know, find out the time from the internet or the weather station and program some sort of timer accordingly.  Or I could just observe and then trigger the bomb via some sort of remote control.  But that's unlikely, too many chances of it going wrong.  I mean she had to know that there was a risk of her getting caught before sundown.  I think she had prepared for that case."

"Yeah, thought so too.  But I just don't think she just programmed the bomb.  The cultists are obsessed with precision and order.  The farm, the apartment -all were in perfect order.  The quadruple homicide was perfectly plotted.  Things only started getting messy once Daryl Marks was shot."

"I see where you're going, the timer would never be that precise, at least not in Charlotte May's eyes.  She's obsessed with Ecology.  She would probably want to follow nature.  There was something tugging at my brain, some idea.  Maybe something I had seen on the report about the apartment.  "

"She could be using a timer based on a solar battery," Warrick speculated.

"No, that isn't precise.  While there is light, the battery is being charged, so it would continue to run even when there is no more direct sun light.  But, you just gave me an idea.  What if she isn't using a solar battery, but something like an LDR?  If they have a transmitter linked to it, then it would stop transmitting a signal when there isn't enough light anymore, Sundown doesn't mean immediate darkness, but the closer you get to the equator the faster it's completely dark after sundown."

"Such a trigger would have to be placed somewhere exposed to sun.  The roof, there are no windows."

"Warrick, we do have binoculars in the Tahoe, right?" I asked, hoping that they were still there.

"Yes, I think so, I'm gonna get them." He sprinted off.  He was pretty fast considering the long day we had.  I myself felt so wrung out, I thought I couldn't have run if my life depended on it.

While he was off getting the equipment, I spoke to the agent.  

"We think that the cultists might be using a light sensitive trigger for the bomb.  So the trigger is probably somewhere on the outside, or the roof if there is an easy access point."

"Got it, I'll tell them to look there.  But the first objective is finding the explosives, so far nothing."

"Found two pairs, you go right, I'll go left." Warrick was breathing heavily.  

"Ok, sun sets in the west, so our chances are best looking at the western edge of the roof." I grabbed the pair of binoculars and made my way right.

It was tedious and seemed to take forever.   Running a few meters, watching then running again.  The terrain was the only thing which was in our favor.  The building was standing at the lowest point and a ridge sloped up next to it.  That made it easier to have a look at the roof.  The heat made the task even more taxing.  I thought it was never going to work, when I finally spotted something.  At first glance I wasn't sure I had really seen something, as I was hungry and exhausted from the heat.  I looked again and was sure.  

"Warrick I got it.  It's on the roof, western edge." Warrick put in another sprint to tell that agent, while I carefully walked down the ridge trying not to fall over.  I felt awfully tired and weak.  It was probably a combination of the heat, lack of sleep, emotional shock and lack of food that brought me to the point where I felt like I could barely stand.  It wasn't my fault, but still I hated feeling weak like this.  It gave me the feeling of being a victim, something I wanted to avoid at all cost.  The feeling of powerlessness had been all too real that day already.  I was determined not to be stuck in that passive victim role.


	24. Warrick

All in a Day 

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers. Also, I'd like to tank everyone who has reviewed this story and provided constructive criticism.

The heat was getting to me, but knowing what was at stake pushed me to keep going.  Sara had spotted what appeared to be the trigger positioned on the roof of the building.  

"We found the explosives", the ATF guy told me as he saw me running towards him.  "Good, we found what appeared to be the trigger. West edge of the rooftop"

The guy transmitted the information to his officers.  I checked my watch, minutes left to go.

"We're all clear, the bomb's been disabled." The ATF agent with the headset announced.  

A wave of relief washed over me.  We had done it.  The bomb wasn't going to go off the fire that Charlotte May had prophesied wasn't going to burn.  We had won.  I was just about to finally relax.  I looked around wanting to say something to Sara. What, I don't remember.  There were ATF agents, a cluster of employees in the distance, but no Sara in sight.

Where the hell was she?  I had been afraid she might do something stupid, wanting to prove to herself that she wasn't a failure after all.  She felt that she needed to make up so to speak for failing to act during the hostage situation.  I tried to recall where I'd last seen her.  We'd checked out the rooftop, had spotted the trigger.  She'd been right next to me then.  I'd gone back to joining the ATF guy.  I'd been focused on the bomb, not on Sara.  She'd turned in the direction of the parking lot.  That was where I'd seen her last.  The police and the ATF were busy clearing the building.  I walked over to the parking lot.  If I wanted to know what Sara had seen, I had to retrace her steps.  Where could she have gone, our cars?  Unlikely.  Charlotte May's car? Could be.  There was a DB which we hadn't had the time to process yet.  She might have gone over there to take a look.  The victim was sitting in the driver's seat, head slumped backwards. 

He was a young man, not older than twenty-five.  Thin, not very tall.  He wasn't wearing any shirt.  Squarely in his chest was a large caliber gunshot wound.  Blood from the wound had stained his pants and the seat.  Because of the heat the body was already starting to give off the familiar smell of decomposing flesh.  I took a closer look.  His hair looked odd.  It had been spiked up with gel, but looked oddly flattened.  Maybe he'd been wearing a cap of sorts.

That's how Charlotte May got access.  She knew her way around since she worked there.  She either tricked the driver into letting her into the car or forced him at gunpoint.  She forces him to take off his shirt, shoots him, and then takes his cap and shirt to get access to the building.  Dressed like this, it was possible to mistake her for a man.  But a shot would be audible, dampener maybe? She was dressed as an employee -a driver specifically.  That meant she could very well be standing along with the other personnel that had been evacuated.   I pulled out the cell to call Brass.  Was that what Sara had discovered? I scanned the parking lot, maybe ten cars in total.  All were either company cars or modest looking employee cars, all except one -a polished sliver BMW.  Not your typical employee vehicle.  I pulled out the papers I had taken with me when Brass and I had left CSI for Kevin Stein's house.  I hastily sorted through them.  There it was the print-out of the DMV record.  Yes, the license plate matched, it was Kevin Stein's car.  They weren't inside the building then.  Kevin Stein would have talked to the police probably.  Where else could she be.  I doubted that she'd left.  The car was still there, besides, she would have wanted to be around at the time of the explosion.  

The small building housing the porter -nobody would check there.  She had a good view of everything that was going on with the help of the video cameras.

Charlotte May stood, gun in hand.  On the floor was the crumpled form of a middle aged man.  He was alive, but blood was seeping from his upper right arm.  It looked like he had been shot.  Presumably, it was Kevin Stein, judging by the picture of him that I had seen earlier.  No child in sight.  Sara was standing opposite of Charlotte, unarmed.  Charlotte May's gun was aimed right at her.

I don't understand exactly what pushed Sara so far.  I didn't realize what she was doing until later, but in my estimation she probably felt bad about not being able to stop Greg from being killed or get her and Grissom out of the hospital when they were the hostages of the cultists.  I know all that and still cannot really understand why.  The situation was beyond her control and she had nothing to feel guilty about.  Nobody expected that, except for herself.  Sara is one of those people who set higher expectations for themselves than those around them. Sometimes that's good.  Sara is the one willing to go the extra mile to prove a case.  She will spend hours after shift on that.  But there she was going too far.  It was not just endangering her career but also her life.  I felt a sting of guilt for not having foreseen this.  While I had been afraid that she might do something stupid I had never thought that she would actually go after Charlotte May unarmed and alone.  Did she need to prove it to herself that badly? When I stepped into the small building, all I saw was Sara, unarmed standing opposite Charlotte May, who was holding what looked like a forty-five caliber with a silencer.

"Come in and close the door behind you." She had seen me before I had a chance.  I did as I was told, not wanting to risk Sara's life or my own for that matter.  I wouldn't underestimate the cultists again.  I knew what they were capable of.  Charlotte May was ready to kill without hesitation.  

"Please, Charlotte, we're trying to understand you.  We've read what you wrote.  It was very interesting and I would like to know more about it." Sara was trying to get through to her.  Charlotte May looked determined, but that couldn't hide her fatigue.  She had been on her feet at least as long as I had.  Her arm was trembling slightly as she held the gun.  Her control was failing.  She wouldn't be able to keep this up for long.  I could already tell that her attention was not fully focused.

I was careful not to say anything to keep from provoking her.  I highly doubted that there was any way to reason with her.  I couldn't really see how there might be a peaceful end to this.  I just hoped that she would be the one going down.  Normally I wouldn't think that way, but in this case I did.  I'm not proud of it, but I'm not going to apologize for that either.

"It has to happen.  You cannot stop me.  Nobody can." 

"What about your child, Charlotte, what will happen to your baby? What did the prophecy tell you?" Sara asked, her voice trembling.

"I've done this for my child.  Everything.  He's safe."

Then, suddenly like a flash, I saw it clearly, Charlotte May wasn't the totally brainwashed cultist for which we had taken her for all along.  She was influenced by her twisted beliefs about the universe that was for sure.  But unlike the other cultists at Heavenly Path she had not been under Daryl Marks spell.  She had been using him and his group to exact her private revenge.  She wanted revenge for her child.  She was looking for someone to blame when there was no one.   Kevin Stein had become her target.  She had probably gotten money from him first by blackmailing him.  Maybe she had threatened to tell the wife all about their affair.  Kevin had paid.  That was how the group had been able to buy explosives.  Getting them isn't a problem in the black market, it's paying for them.  Charlotte may have taken care of that.  By simulating a vision and influencing Marks, she had channeled the group's doomsday belief towards Kevin Stein.  She didn't believe in the fire and all the things that the cultists had believed in.  Sure, she was a deranged personality, but it was clear to me that she had not been brainwashed and forced into this, she was acting on a cold blooded plan.  A plan in which Daryl marks only played a secondary role.  That's why his death had not left her as aimlessly as the other cultists, she had never depended on him as a spiritual leader.  As I realized that, I knew that what Sara was trying to do, entering into her system of belief wasn't going to work.  There was no reasoning with her.  She was cornered and she knew it.  Her chance for revenge on Kevin Stein and society was over.  The only thing Charlotte May had left now was rage -deadly rage.

"Ms. May, I'm asking you one last time to put down the gun." Right then I really wished that someone who had more experience at this was there.  I was afraid that I was saying and doing all the wrong things.  This sort of confidence problem is new to me. Normally, I'm sure of myself at what I do.  But I'm not a cop.  

"Never," she spat out, aiming her gun.  In that moment I pulled the trigger.  I just did it without thinking about it.  Without thinking about the life I was going to end by doing so.  Charlotte May slumped back in slow motion.  I can't tell whether she screamed.  I didn't hear anything.

She was the first person I killed.

I had pulled the trigger just in time.  A split second later, she did the same.  The two gunshots exploded almost at the same time, momentarily deafening me.

There was no immediate emotional sort of impact.  I didn't feel anything at all.  I don't know why.  Maybe I was already only working on the purely physical functioning level, after all, since I had gotten on shift last night at six p.m. just over twenty-four hours had passed and a lot had happened.  Sara was on the ground.  At first, I thought she had been hit by Charlotte May after all and I raced over to her.

"Sara, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so." She seemed dazed but mostly fine.  I was immensely relieved.

Yelling and the sound of people running was approaching from outside.  It was over.

Once the adrenaline wore off, it was over for me as well.  The adrenaline rush that had kept me going for the past twelve plus hours was waning now.  Suddenly I was too tired and too exhausted for everything, too tired to think too tired to speak.  I just sat down on the floor.  The sound of boots approaching got louder, then the door burst open and the tiny room filled with people.  I was too tired to pay attention to any individuals.  I didn't care anymore.  I was mentally and physically exhausted.  I had run on adrenaline alone for the past few hours and now that the immediate danger was gone, I could barely keep my eyes open.  One of the agents bagged my gun, asking me whether I had injuries, which I managed to deny.  Still the obligatory check-up by a paramedic followed, and then I was free to go.  In no shape to drive, I was glad that Brass had arranged for a patrol car to drive me back home.  

When I finally got home, I didn't have the energy to do anything.  I kicked my shoes into a corner, stumbled into the bedroom and fell asleep.  I haven't fallen asleep fully dressed since college.

I awoke late, feeling slightly groggy but otherwise ok.  Now the harder part was starting.  I hadn't had any time to think during the previous day, I had been only reacting.  

My appointment at the station to give my statement concerning the shooting was only in the afternoon, so I still had time on my hands.  It occurred to me that with the entire chaos that had started after Nick and Catherine had been shot, I had not spent one minute thinking about the immediate consequences.  Had anyone even called someone to take care of Lindsey?

I called CSI to find out.  I was told that a neighbor had been called, as she was listed on the contact information for Catherine.  Relieved that this had been taken care of, I called up the neighbor to see how Lindsey was doing.  Since she wasn't in school, as she wasn't feeling well, I decided to drop by.

The neighbor, the mother of one of Lindsey's school friends, was already waiting for me.

"It's very nice of you to come by.  Is Catherine going to be fine? All I was told was that she was injured at work.  I saw it on the news last night.  They said that she had been shot."

"She's going to be alright.  How is Lindsey doing?"

"Worried.  I haven't told her what happened, but she knows that something is wrong."

"I was going to take her to the hospital to see her mom."

Although Lindsey was happy to see me and glad to hear that Catherine was going to be fine.  I could sense that she was scared of what she was going to see.  She wanted to see her mother, but was afraid of it at the same time.  She didn't say but her body language was clear.  Kids are not as good at masking their feelings as we adults have gotten.  It's sad that we have to in order to survive.

The closer we got to Catherine's room the slower she was walking.  She stopped dead a few meters from the door.  I'm not terribly good with kids, but I tried my best.  I got down to her eye-level.

"What about this, I go in and see if your Mom's awake?  If she is, you can come see her."

Lindsey nodded.

Catherine looked pale and tired, but was awake.

"Morning, Warrick.  You again?"

"Well you can't get rid of me that easily.  How are you?"

"Sore and drugged, but I'll live.  How's Lindsey doing?"

"Okay, but it's been hard on her.  She's staying with her friend Ann's family right now.  I brought her here with me, she's waiting outside.  She's scared, so I told her I'd check with you first.  But she wants to see you."

"Me too.  Thanks Warrick.  Just one thing, did you get them?"

"We got them, the bomb didn't go off." Before Catherine could ask me more questions, I told her what she would have asked next.

"Nick's going to be fine with time.  But there was a hostage situation, the cultists wanted to get Marks out.  Grissom, Sara and Greg happened to be there at the wrong time.  Greg was shot by one of them."

Catherine said nothing, but what is there to say.  

After a pause, she said.

"Thanks for telling me.  Bad news is always hard."

After a well spent morning, came the afternoon which I had been dreading.

I wasn't really worried about the investigation of the shooting.  It had clearly been self-defense.  Still I was nervous.  I needn't have worried, it all went fine.  A few questions as to how it went, but nothing tricky.  Nobody doubted my account of the story.

"When I entered the porter's lodge, Kevin Stein was on the floor injured, Sara Sidle was being held at gunpoint by Charlotte May.  Ms. Sidle tried to persuade her to put down her gun.  I gave her a last chance to put it down, but she made it clear that she was going to shoot Ms. Sidle.  I had no other choice but to fire at her," I briefly told the IAB guy what had happened.

"We found that Charlotte May did in fact fire her gun.  When exactly did this happen?" I had expected that.

"About the same time, I fired at her.  Maybe right after it." 

"That'll be all for now.  We'll call you if there are any further questions.  Ms. Sidle's statement confirms what you told us.  The situation seems clear to me."

Relieved that it had gone that quickly and smoothly, I left.

It was when I had left the police station walking through the heat back to my car, when the bullet I had fired the day before finally hit home.  It was purely emotional, not intellectual.  But the very realization of having ended a life, even when it had meant saving my own life and that of Sara was… I don't know how to really describe it, painful.  It was the knowledge that I had crossed a barrier, the barrier of taking a life.  I never doubted that I could, but it's different when it actually comes to it.  There is never a going back.  I crossed that barrier and now I have to live with it.

That moment in the parking lot, it seemed impossible to me. When my emotions are flying high, I turn to self-destruction, I always have.  Right there, my inner demons were waking up, urging me to do what I know I shouldn't do.

Last time I felt like this, Nick had been my safety net.  He had come up to me when I had needed a friend at that gaming table.  Maybe it was my turn now.  I got into my car and drove to the hospital, preparing for my second visit that day.  So many mistakes have been made; I didn't need to add to it.

On the whole, as far as personal consequences of this case are concerned, I'm not so sure.  Everyone else, except Grissom maybe seems to have them.  I don't think I really do, aside from having killed someone in self-defense.  But the way I look at it, I did my best under the circumstances.  Maybe that's easy for me to say, since I was probably the least personally involved of the team.  I was just busy following the evidence.  It isn't all skill -a lot is up to coincidence.


	25. Nick

All in a Day 

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers. Also, I'd like to tank everyone who has reviewed this story and provided constructive criticism.

I had rather little to do with the actual case.  On some level, I envy the others who got to do something to stop a tragedy from happening.  It makes me feel impotent and helpless.  I feel like I can't do anything.  It's the feeling I hate the most.  

I learned about what had happened only in bits and pieces.  My first big piece came when Warrick came to see me at the hospital the day after the shooting.

When I first woke up, the first thing I thought, once the drug-induced fog had cleared enough for me to realize my situation, was that I was happy to be alive.  The last thing I recalled was having driven out to the Heavenly Path estate together with Vega and Catherine.  We had found blood in the yard, had gone in.  Then Vega had been shot and I probably as well, but all I could remember about that was overwhelming pain and fear.  I had thought that Catherine and I were going to die too.  After only a few seconds of undisturbed bliss, confusion followed.  There was a lot I didn't know.  How had I gotten to the hospital, how was Catherine doing and what had happened to the case?

I still couldn't stay awake for very long.  I drifted between waking and sleep.  Sometime, it must have been late afternoon, as the sun outside was already starting to set, Warrick came in.  Either he didn't knock or I was to out of it to hear it, but to me it seemed like he was just suddenly there.  Not having noticed him come in, I was startled when he was suddenly standing next to my bed.

"I'm sorry, Nick. I didn't mean to startle you." He sounded troubled.

"Hi, Warrick, nice to see you too.  I just didn't hear you come in.  What day is it?"

"It's Tuesday, you've been out for almost an entire day.  How are you feeling?"

"Drugged.  Did I miss much?" By Warrick's look, I could tell that I had and that it was nothing good.

"A lot.  I don't even know where to start." I saw that Warrick was battling personal demons, which probably had to do with the case.  

"Just tell me, alright."

"It all went to hell, man.  Catherine got Marks before he got her too.  The three of you were rushed to the hospital.  Then Mark's gang showed up there.  They took Grissom, Sara and Greg hostage, when they were here to get the evidence from the shooting.  It ended with the HRT storming the building.  We found the bomb they had been building in a chemical storage plant outside Vegas.  ATF disarmed it just before it would have blown up.  During all that…"

"Everyone all right?" I interrupted him, I had to know.

Warrick winced, and I already knew it wasn't.  I feared that Catherine might have not made it.

"Catherine's been shot too, but she'll make it.  Greg's dead, he's been shot by the cultists."

It hit me hard, sledgehammer-like, and harder than when Holly Gribbs had died.  I had barely known her, but Greg had been a constant at the lab, with his music, endless babbling and weird hair.  I couldn't imagine that he had just been shot.  Hell, he wasn't a CSI and normally didn't get out in the field.  He had always wanted to, and now that he had gotten out, he'd been shot by a lunatic.  Life isn't fair.

"Did you get those bastards?" I felt a sudden anger at the people who had to inflict their misery on innocent bystanders.

"We did.  The HRT busted in, we also got the woman behind it all."

"Dead?" I wanted to know whether they would have to stand trial.  

Warrick nodded, somehow sad.  "I had to shoot her, she was going to kill Sara and me," he said, as if to justify it.  I felt sorry for him.  I'm not sure whether I could pull the trigger even if I had to.  I don't know whether I really could have shot Daryl Marks if I had had the chance.  Catherine hadn't hesitated and it was good that she didn't.  Otherwise I wouldn't be here.  But could I have done the same? But you can't know that until you do.  And I hope I will never have to find out whether I could kill another person.

Recovery was going slow for me.  Luckily the bullet hadn't hit any bone, only muscle.  Warrick kept on coming by every day, but we avoided talking about the case again.  We only talked about harmless stuff, sports, the news.

The day I finally got out of the hospital was the day of Greg's funeral.  The doctors had wanted to keep me in for another day or two but I had insisted.  Going to the funeral was important to me.  I didn't see it at the time, but I think that I needed to go there, to help myself make it real.  

At the funeral, everyone was there from nightshift and almost everyone from dayshift and a lot of people I didn't know.  It occurred to me then that I had no idea about Greg's life outside CSI.  In spite of being annoying, he had grown on me, more than I would have admitted.  I regret never having spent time with him socially, gotten to know him not just as a lab tech.

Basically, I continue to carry on like I have always done.  Working hard and trying to be a good CSI.


	26. Epilogue

All in a Day 

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.

A/N: This is the final chapter, an epilogue incorporating all the different POV. I owe much thanks to J who stuck with me all the way on this. I also want to thank everyone who has reviewed this story. It means a lot to me.

Gil's POV: 

I hate to hear about my cases on TV, I hate it even more when I learn things about my cases that I didn't know, from TV.  In this case it was inevitable.  I actually depended on TV for information.

Fatigue, shock and a real headache led me to agree to spend the night in the hospital for observation.  Normally, I don't like hospitals, nobody does, but I was just too tired and too dazed to protest, besides, I didn't really feel up to driving myself home.  I sleep for a few hours, but wake up in the late evening.  My headache had toned down and the numb feeling from before was gone.  My mind was up and running again.  That brought the question of what had happened with the case to mind.  Sundown was already past, which meant the bomb had either exploded on schedule or we had succeeded in stopping them.  Now what bothered me the most was the uncertainty -the feeling of being in the dark.  I carefully got up, but aside from a stinging pain in my arm, nothing protested.  My clothes, though ruined were still there.  Since especially the shirt was evidence, I left it for fear of contaminating evidence.  I settled for pants and shoes.  The bright light in the corridor made my head ache, but soon I found what I was looking for.  A combined waiting and visitors room with a TV.  Normally the virtual omnipresence of TV in this country annoys me.  I find it distracting at best.  But right now, I was looking for news.  Several people were watching.

A news report was on.  After the politics of the day, the newscaster moved on to the local news.

"Earlier this afternoon, bomb specialists from the ATF managed to disarm a bomb just in time.  The device had been placed in a storage plant owned by the Aimtec Company.  The explosion would have resulted in a catastrophic release of toxic gases spreading all over the city.  Even though a tragedy has been averted today, we can't help but wonder, how safe can we still feel in our homes? Are the police capable of protecting us? They have yet to make any statement about the authors of the bomb.  Rumor has it that the bombing might be linked to the hostage situation earlier today at Desert Palms Hospital.  The police spokesperson refused to comment whether terrorists were involved."

My low opinion of the media confirmed once again, I retreated to my room.

There was nothing left to do for the rest of the night, but stare at the ceiling and wait for time to pass.  At some point, when the faint light outside was already announcing the coming sunrise, I fell asleep.  It seemed like I had been asleep for only minutes when a painfully bright nurse woke me.  At least she had good news.  The doctor wanted to take another look at me, but then I was free to go.  I couldn't wait to get out of the hospital and back to the quiet and peaceful confines of my apartment.  I had had enough exposure to the world for the entire week.  

The doctor didn't manage to see me before late morning.  He told me not to work for the rest of the week and to drop by in three days because of my arm.

I was already prepared to call a cab to get back home, when there was a knock on my door.  I asked whoever it was to come in.  It was Brass.

"Morning, Gil.  I thought you could use a lift." He sounded everything but cheerful.  

I was surprised to say the least.  

"Thanks."

"Truth is I was here anyways for the reconstruction with the IAB guys.  Thought I'd throw in my good deed for the day, and come and get you."

"How did the reconstruction go?" I knew that it was always tricky to reconstruct a shooting, especially with multiple shooters involved.

"It went okay, it's just for protocol.  Plenty of witnesses, no doubt about what did happen, but problem is, that neither they nor the cultists were stingy with their bullets.  Over forty rounds fired.  Your graze is from a ricochet."

"I saw on the news, that you got them.  Good job." It came across cynically, but I really meant it.

"Not really.  Getting them doesn't mean you win -too many bodies."

"Nobody ever does win.  How many?"

"Eighteen so far, maybe nineteen, DB in Henderson, might or might not be connected to the case.  We found the woman that the guy called.  Charlotte May.  She was a member of Marks little cult, a special member.  She got to sleep with the guru.  A couple of months back she allegedly had a vision telling the group that their day of sacrifice was going to come and that for the new world order to start they had to blow up a chemical plant outside Vegas.  Don't ask me about the logic in that.  She sold it to Marks with lots of doomsday stuff and he bought it, lucky for us the guy taped their sessions.  That's how we found out.  We assumed that she and Marks were at the Heavenly Path estate when they were surprised by Vega, Nick and Catherine.  After Catherine got Marks, she split.  Where she went, we have no idea; she might have been setting up the explosives already.  They were stashed in a container at a chemical storage plant of the Aimtec Company.  They could have been there for ages.  Charlotte May had access because she used to be an employee there.  The next thing we know for certain is that when she figured that the rest wasn't going to come, she went ahead alone.  She killed a company driver, stole his uniform and got access to the plant and set up the trigger for her bomb.  ATF got it just in time.  She was still at the storage plant, wanted to see it blow up.  Sara and Warrick got here there.  She had shot the plant owner, one Kevin Stein and the porter."

"Motive?"

"Not sure on motive yet, could've been religious delusions maybe, but there are some things that don't fit in.   Charlotte May had an affair with Kevin Stein the owner of Aimtec; his prints were at the compound and in her apartment.  His company transferred money to Charlotte May, could be blackmail.  She might have threatened to tell the wife and claimed that her son was his.  Who knows?  Kevin Stein probably figured out what his mistress was up to when the police called him about her.  He took off before we could ask him any questions.  We don't know whether he only provided the money or was involved in the plans for the bombing.  Also Charlotte May had no problems carrying on after Marks was dead.  The rest of his sheep were devastated, totally lost without their guru.  We think that Charlotte May was manipulating both Daryl Marks and Kevin Stein.  Things at the cult were peaceful until she had a child.  Marks was the father.  But the child had a birth defect called hydranencephaly.  It's usually fatal within the first year of life.  There is no clear cause, but Charlotte May might have blamed Kevin Stein and his company.  Aimtec has been under investigation for bribery to get around drug trial, but the case was closed.  A few months ago, Charlotte May hooked up with an activist group lobbying for a reopening of that investigation.  Then she manipulated Marks so that he and his group would do the dirty work for her.  But we can prove none of this of course."

"What about the child?"

"ATF found it on the Aimtec premises.  Apparently she left him there to die in the explosion."

"Charlotte May?"

"Dead, she threatened to shoot Sara.  Warrick had no choice but to fire in self-defense.  The two cultists that survived haven't said one word.  We got one name.  Marvin Lucas, thirty-eight.  We matched the gun with his fingerprints to the gun that killed the girl.  He's going down for murder, but his lawyer is definitely going to plead insanity, claim that he was totally under the influence of Daryl Marks."

"He wasn't.  Sara and I were there, when he shot the girl, he knew what he was doing.  The girl had doubts then he killed her."

"Good.  The IBA want to talk to you tomorrow for your statement."

"Let's go.  I have to get out of here."

"I understand." Brass was showing an oddly sympathetic side.  His usual cynicism was barely detectable.

An hour later, Brass had just dropped me off at my place, I was finally alone.  I need to be alone to think, I always have.  And I had some serious thinking to do.  When a person is my age, one has a fixed mental image of oneself, one professes to know oneself.  I'm no exception there.  When Sara and I had been held hostage, I had experienced emotions that were unfamiliar, I reacted in ways I wouldn't have considered possible an hour earlier.  It all didn't fit in with the Gill Grissom I was.  I had to sort that out.

I envy Catherine for her ability to just go on.  I tell myself that pondering the past is useless, a waste of time and energy.  We learn, we move on.  At least that's the idea.  One look at the history of mankind and it's clear that it doesn't work.  People forget and don't learn.  I didn't learn, but I didn't forget.  I still keep thinking about what happened and what could have happened.  I try not to, but when I can't sleep because my mind keeps its own hours, my thoughts invariably return to that day.

My people skills aren't very good, I am aware of that.  They never were, but to be honest, it never really mattered to me.  Already when I was younger, even back in school, I had little interest in social interactions with my peers.  I always kept to myself and avoided events that required social skills.  Most people hardly knew me, because I stayed out of sight and didn't talk much.  I even skipped out on the graduation celebration.  I seldom feel the need to talk, but there are some things I wish that I had said.  It wouldn't have killed me to go over to Greg when he was lying on the floor, bleeding to death.  It wouldn't have mattered what I said, but I should have said something, instead of just standing there and watch.

I have never talked to Sara about what happened in the hospital.  I learned from the report that she had a gun and never used it.  I wonder what I would have done in her position.  My psychological approach wasn't successful at all.  But maybe it was just too late.  On the whole, I feel like a failure on that case.  I was passive, waiting for things to happen around me.  What bothers me the most, is that after the cultists had been overrun by the HRT, I was so out of it -that wasn't like me, at least not as far as I knew.  Maybe I need to revise me self-image a bit.

Catherine's POV:

After Warrick and Lindsey had left again, I had more time to think than I liked.

I've often promised my daughter that in the future I would spend more time with her.

But then I realized that you can only say tomorrow so often and that every day it could be too late.  The only time that I could spend was now.  Amazing and sad that it has taken a bullet to drive that point home.  But most of us live blindly and never wake up.  I don't know what was different this time.  I had been attacked at a crime scene before.  Back then I just pushed it back and moved on with my life as usual.  Never doubt, never look back.  This time I did the same, I just wanted to change a few things and then move on.  I wanted to act before it was too late.  Maybe this time I couldn't ignore what had happened.  I was lying in the hospital, every breath reminding me that my ribs were hurting.  I couldn't lie to Lindsey or to my co-workers then.  I had to face that something had actually happened.  Having to face it allowed me to learn from it too.

When I was released from the hospital the next day, I went to ask Grissom for a leave of absence.  I had decided to change things and once I do there is no going back for me.  Grissom didn't ask me why, all he asked was how long.  I took four weeks leave.

Sara's POV:

Most of what happened after the events in the porter's lodge isn't clear to me.  In my memory it's just a few blurry images.  I remember Warrick shooting Charlotte May and the ATF agents coming in.  At some point a paramedic was checking me over.  I must have been fine because the next thing I clearly remember is a patrol car dropping me off at home.  The next three days passed in a haze.  I couldn't think clearly or focus on anything.  It was a first for me.  Normally my mind is always thinking, analyzing and pulling things apart, even when I don't want it to.  But during those days, I just felt afloat, there was thought and images chasing through my mind, but I couldn't hold onto them.  I couldn't stop seeing mental replays of Greg dying right in front of me -Dolby Surround sound and Technicolor.  I just functioned.  I went to the station, gave my statement, and then drove home.  I mechanically did what was to be done.  I woke up the day of Greg's funeral.  Going there somehow catapulted me right back into the real world.  I had been at Detective Vega's funeral the day before and remember almost nothing about it.  I went there simply because I had worked with Vega a couple of times.  But I really wanted to go to Greg's funeral.  I don't know why.  I hate funerals.  But somehow, it was a conclusion for me.  It hadn't been over for me, the days before I had been in a limbo state.  There was a lot more to this case, but what happened in the hospital is the only thing vivid in my memory.  After that I was just driven by guilt over what wasn't my fault.  I wanted to bring an end to it all.  I thought I could do so by solving the puzzle.  But ironically the real end for me didn't come from what I did, it came at the funeral.  From then on, the haunting mental image started to fade.  It's still there, and it always will be but it didn't freeze my thoughts anymore.

I should be proud of myself; after all it was me who figured out where the bomb was placed.  Many people would have died had I not figured that out.  Normally, having solved that puzzle would have filled me with a sense of gratification.  I live to solve puzzles.  But the question that this case left me with was whether solving puzzles made out of physical clues was enough.  The human element, did it play a larger role than I was willing to acknowledge, I had seen the incalculability of human behavior of both myself and others during this case.  I had never thought that I might be powerless in a situation where my life was at stake.  I never thought that shock could catch me by surprise like it did.  Objectively, I have nothing to feel guilty about, but I still do.  I don't know whether that's just social conditioning, a personal tick or survivor's guilt.  

On the second day after the case was over, and I was still on leave, I realized that like everyone else I would have some dealing to do.  I couldn't just put it all in a neat mental file and shut the drawer.  This wasn't going to work for me.  It might work for Grissom, but I don't think it is.  He just pretends that it does.  Everyone deals in their own ways.  My way is through knowledge.  I wanted to know about people and what was driving them.  I started reading up on religion, cultism and psychology.  I even went to take a psychology class at the local university.  It starts at eight in the morning, so I can make it right after my shift at CSI.  I still like my work a lot, but I've been putting in a lot less overtime lately.

Have I changed because of this case?

Yes, I think I have.  My interest in the human aspect has grown.  When I think about it it's weird because what this case has shown me, examples of the worst of mankind.  If anything, I should have been disgusted and thus confirmed in my focus on science.  But the example of the cultists has also shown me that we all search for something to hold onto, we need something to believe in, otherwise we are lost.  The cultists believed in Daryl Marks, Charlotte May believed in taking revenge, I used to believe only in science.  People are not as easy to figure out as things are.  They are not a science.  One can subject things to all kinds of scientific tests and one can learn everything about them.  What they are made of, where they come from, sometimes who handled them last.  In a way, people are a more challenging subject.

Yesterday was Catherine's first day back at work after she had taken some leave.  I could tell right from the start the she could see how things had changed around the lab.  She actually asked me about it during the break we had since it was a slow shift.  I hadn't paid that much attention to it, but Catherine was right.  Grissom is more quiet than ever.  Warrick's all the same and Nick is even more eager, I think it bugs him that he didn't do anything on the case.  Not like it's really his fault.  He's just too hard on himself.  Maybe we all are.  Everyone is thinking about what they did and what they didn't do and nobody is happy with what they discovered.  We all learned something about ourselves in an extreme situation and we all have to live with it.  We just do it in different ways.

The End


End file.
